“Is there something terribly wrong with me?”
I sigh and look up from my book. In the evening light my grandmother stares back at me, utterly unaware that it’s the third time she’s asked in as many minutes. Complex maps of wrinkles frame her wide eyes, each crease charting the grief, joy and laughter of a lifetime she is slowly forgetting. I look at her and I remember the wit and spark that used to punctuate her speech. I remember the way she used to strike up a conversation with anyone, anywhere; how she’d find wonder in the simplicity of everyday life. Her curiosity, her sense of adventure, her love of the worl
-21-
four blossoms fall
in reverse –
dancing butterflies
-20-
on the terrace
a dead pigeon...
we suspect fowl play
-19-
playing badminton
a butterfly
chases the shuttlecock
-18-
side by side
two pensioners
rev their scooters
-17-
empty field
the last strands of barley
in the wind
-16-
in the garden
flying dirt
and a dog’s bottom
-15-
morning alarm –
the screeching of a red kite
-14-
sunset on the pier
swallows dance away the day
-13-
a tiny wasps’ nest
crushed
underfoot
old memories
swept away
-12-
swifts chasing
clouds chasing
swifts
-11-
high noon
heads of barley bow low
-10-
squabbling
in next
-1-
along the river
jigsaw houses
tumble into fog
-2-
a new-born lamb
blanketed
in snow
-3-
two wasps
tapping at my window
the first signs of spring
-4-
tourists
in the city –
a pair of gulls
-5-
thunderclouds:
an orange glow
in the city sky
-6-
Sunday bells
clashing
with the crow's call
-7-
her smile
in the morning light
a fading photograph
-8-
two gossips
chatter at the fence –
magpies
-9-
a looming deadline
blue-black clouds
hang in the sky
-1-
from end to end
golden leaves adorn the street
in bin bags
-2-
blackout
in the distance
a siren wails
-3-
sunday morning –
the streets filled
with church bells
-22-
in the earth
two silver trails
wind around
scattered
slug pellets
-21-
early evening moon
pink-tipped daisies
close their sleepy lashes
-20-
amid the still ivy birdsong bursting through
-19-
nodding heads
bluebells under the shady green
-18-
scattered thoughts
on the wind
dancing dandelion seeds
-17-
specks of brilliant blue
flies feasting on faeces
-16-
uncovering
someone else's memories
peeling wallpaper
-15-
playing cards
my grandparents
cheat together
-14-
morning -
wood smoke
still lingering
in my hair
and in my heart
-13-
fingers
sinking into earth -
the beech's roots
-12-
mapped out
across
Sheltered at last from the rain, I set my bags down beside me on the bus stop bench and push back my soaked hood. Inside sodden boots I can barely feel my toes curling up in wet socks. Stiff and frozen, I try to wriggle some warmth into them. Across the road, the steady glow of a bakery beckons: a haven of temptation in the grey. I can see rows of loaves, pastries and cakes lining the shelves, warm and golden from the oven. Five minutes until the bus.
through shafts of rain
bright neon lettering
flickers: 'boulangerie'