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So we survived another storm more gentle than the predictions. 

I am here cosy with a heart drawn in my diary where the word mill used to be.

I never minded going yet pleased today that I am not.

I shall miss the customer conversation if any customers there are.

Yet not the guilt at judgement which may have come involuntary.  My mothers shadow.

So a nice day here with all that entails.
I hope the same for you.
maybe you play chess  in bad weather
or another pastime

here they forecast an awful rain yesterday
yet it came quite warm and gentle and

i shared some nougat with the delivery man
after chatting about our days in children’s  homes

a coincidence
a distant memory

he also brought plants
and new pencils

i have a wounded finger
either from the drawing

or a whitlow with an h

we like a good rainy day come cosy
he seemed surprised yesterday that i had completed the task

to ensure the proportions looked right for me

it is part of the job and if it is diaried must be done ticked off when finished

the sham crow bird was rearranged for it was too high  to look good

later in the studio the work that had continued the same so long made a change
with a sigh of relief 

one enjoys the names of colours here

would have liked a job in that department

ignoring the racist ones from the fifties

smiling at those from farrow and ball

heritage colours come dull

as lockdown hit here first

i painted my outsides in happy yellow
drawn by the name not just the colour

and oh that name come true
on opening jim

is fading now
yets remains as the description

a new bike
how joyful
maybe it is a code word
or pseudonym

i wonder each time I hear from you

and yes there we go with those assumptions  again

we all do it
have our own stories

unless we are told somehow

that is all we shall have
some places we have only passed through
and if the history were told we may understand it different

than reality

these slower times I find more exploration yet only of the now with patches of this and that to photograph

to lean and wonder

there is a mist in the valley and pink in the sky
the promise of a pretty day ahead


as always
on monday which was mayday bank holiday only may day was saturday with monday being the third already

i drew pictures on scraps left over from the other pictures i had cut round carefully

all day it rained hard, drumming

a little world here of characters and stories none of them famous nor commendable

it was mentioned that some people don’t know what whitsun is and he agreed and said

what is it then?
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