that was good to hear that you had company in the garden yesterday, that he visited.

all was good for me and to say the book stayed in the bag all day.

it was refreshing to be with those on the same wavelength – a relief from the other world.

the garden was beautiful, they have such a talent with planting .

today the roofers return and I go to the ******* dump early.

seems there may be some connection

some call it a trigger

some things leave us cold and wondering

goes where it leads me, a kind of conversation between me and the work, but drawing on what is in mind.

“A kind of diary?”

a differing light
shades and all that surrounds
i drew them later
my way

we watched it come down over the mountain spreading
slowly
as the cloud passed by the sun
after cooling indoors we went to see
the maker in the lower field

no snow here yet at all  and fairly warm just now. stood outside in the lightening dawn and noticed the birds come differing as if they know.

.the is an owl out there near the wood.

.i like this time, the new start as if nothing untoward  happens.

.later when light I remember it does.

seems maybe if it is written down

for tomorrow

in the diary

it gets done today

finalised with finesse tomorrow

like

the stick fence and composting

and other varied tasks

pottering in and out

did you see that river stone there

adding accent

do you see the chicken wire behind the ivy covered some time ago

do you find that predictor adds words not required and meanings irrelevant

even the thorns came useful

stood there at the big house with the designer dog
each other and grandchild

add their two cars,  mobile home
sheds for bikes, scooter, kayak and other paraphernalia and vast corporate gardens

returned from the holiday abroad
asked if they enjoyed it

moaned vehemently on the price
of their covid tests

ffs

framed

the things were in the chubby

where he climbed and chucked them

down

sat in the doorway smiling

new trainers

i took his photograph

which went to exhibition

somewhere



now we are in isolation

so where is the difference?



a younger rock formation isolated among older rocks       

someone who moves differently to others.            

an exercise in the way to  view the world.

we are all

individual.

as much as this is said

this performance can do with quite an improvement.

they did not know she had many, neither did she. just collected one item at a time, cared fully for         each one of them.                                                                                                          catalogued

breaking cups    spilling tea will abuse the hospitality

please come. i have the kettle on.    this is not the time

for hostility

.a happy picture of you indeed all balaclava’d and goggled dashing forth.

.maybe i will get a photograph?

.it has been dry and clear enough to be busy out of doors and there was not time to write because of it.

.i am about to reorganise the kinding store

having tidied the upper room of the outbuilding already and deleted  incorrect predicted commas here.

.washing is out and blowy  while pandemic ensues.

we here hope things there

are more settled than yesterday

yesterday in trying to say the right things

whilst also saying things

wished

possibly uttered the wrong things

wishing you well while realising that it is not at all well

look at the weathered walls

hear the song come random

with words true for us with no argument

and our insides curl

with these feelings

some folk don’t say much
some folk manage
quite well

really

being independent

have a photo here of up the valley
where they used to stook the harvest

all the family out working the fields

in the evening it came cooler
for rest

that all are temporary measures
temporary structures
and collage

so we can move things about

change things as we like

there a little cloud with teardrops

a wash of shadowed grey

they came and cut the oak tree

not down entirely. they call it

trimmed

for he was worried it will fall

on his

house

it still may yet that is

a different story

here there are old yews all about

with tree protector orders and love

from those below

who have insurance

who remember deportment and unfortunately

elocution class

and may have preferred the predicted

the roads here are winding, the leaves are changing.

best not to bang the teapot down on serving, best
to tell the truth.

normal is what you know . normal is what your family is.

and then you learn different

learn different things

that others consider normal

later you make your own normal

choose

your own family

comes a differing hue
with duck egg blue

the ironmongers in town
at one seventy nine

has beautiful spots james
while i like any pattern that includes spots
and any other embellishment like bows

you know

this is good
maybe this is what the time has been for
to clear

a reassessment

of stuff
our preferences

i have to tell you in all excitement the new pencil sharpener arrived yesterday

described as longer lasting and made my pencils pointy

the lines came fine
i told her and she
said she will like
one too
so it is in the post

she was given a bottle of jersey milk with an image of a cow imprinted and planned to make
rice pudding

with grated stuff to taste

i don’t  like milk puddings yet did not say so as not to spoil the story for her

i like liquorice

dry he wore the white dress

his hair curled damply

we drew him

we painted him

he is taller now & remains

much the same

grass
holds the sand.
sand holds
the grass.
have you walked the dunes
hollowed path, coconut gorse.
have you found contentment there?
have you sat the sun, black crow bird,
have you closed your eyes at that
within, enjoyed that
without?
the tin hut is still empty.

these are the warmer days, days of independance.

days to charm

gently gently make those little
amendments

make things interesting

move it about

they used to be called siren suits here and were mainly designed to clothe children during the blitz I believe, and the fashion continued  after, though I never had one.

.was surfing the other moment and came across a heated garment, which sounded cosy and as for hands I have no idea.

.smiley face.

so i googled it,
and this is probably
as good as it
gets today.
i shall be sketchy
a few days.
slightly offline
maybe.

storm came yesterday dark and loud  the landscape veiled
awash a while
black things fade and all is grey

win or lose hedge your edge
write of parlay

last time this way there  was blood

dripping

fortunately

there was a handkerchief to staunch it

this morning it felt quite like autumn

the bear looked up and asked

have you written any thing today?



no, not much.



so then , no one will know

what has happened

today.



no.

( notes on darkness) more fairy lights is all that is needed, radio music, and padding about really….

tides are higher now, flooding the paths.

he walked the mud, bringing the footsteps back to us

the mothth as collage.
a quiet ththing.

we talked of god and the making.

the set was described, security lights
threw trees into shape and number, signs
that most things have a joy. there were
two hearts,

a space between.

it may be raining today.

he asked me who will be afraid of our ghosts
ghosts of humans
when we are gone

sea swim
is saturdays at ten in the morning,
sundays later at eleven.


this too remembered in the bathroom.
we use the pool, mainly.

seen in aberystwyth
lately, an other world.

away.

layers of paint,
wider crossings.

the man saw his father
in mirrors, helped
with tiny shoon,
helped with self
esteem.

it only took one
hour,
to blow
those cobwebs
away.

i met the story teller,
in the museum,
the street,
the place between.

the clouds hang heavy

the mass, the clouds lay heavy, rain that came, that blinded again. blinded those that could not see the love and idle artefacts, each one a statement of nothing in particular.

we sit quietly here, fretting

over nothing in particular.



some bemoan their lot,

others get on with it willingly.



stop and have a cup of tea.



while others walk in #ice and mud,

while others #drown,

while others #starve.



without a #cup of tea.

mainly red,

comes a differing hue
with duck egg blue,

the ironmongers in town
at one seventy nine

where is the power house,
metal books he said.

concrete palaces for those
that prey.

he grew it plant like,
fought it,
numbered it
thirteen.

tiny things become intimate

you may put them in cases, or hang on pins

straight or safety, it becomes political

the choice is yours

bulldog clips

some things fade with time,
with sun and washings.

this one remained bright,
even glaring

i thinks it’s a mouse in the bathroom

moving the old soap into odd places

and leaving bits about

for the cleaner to sweep.

this morning early we pinned that soap onto the bath board

they say that manners maketh man,

yet boys in pyjamas

use them to be polite , asking for quality

behaviour.

bought her tea set gently in parts
each week from woolworths and i still have
some of it

maybe

is was dark blue with a little red added

lasted two weeks and still prominent.

much has happened since

skimmed slates that bounced about

unlike the pebbles that grow on our banks here

unlike the landscape hereabouts yet only up the road

up the road where all comes beyond reality to help with reality