Friday, 27 January 2012
A cluster of four stones
Windows weep. Moisture gathers at the bottom of panes. Small patches of clear glass show where the air seeps in through our old windows. The glorious blue sky and sun light the beech hedge stop me weeping in sympathy.
Second stone (no picture here - it is not pretty enough)
My bank statement glares at me, and evokes feelings of anger, worry and futility. A tiny fraction of a banker's bonus would put things right. I do silly things too, but don't get paid for it.
En route for Aynho, a large dead tree is centre stage, backed by delicate mists and trees with hoar frost. A demanding presence, like a soliloquy in a Shakespearean tragedy.
Unseasonal ladybird has come in to shelter from the weather. Flexes her wings under the 7 spots. Crawls over my hands preferring the warmth to the draughty floor.The tiny feet tickle me palm. But is she a she? Why do we always think of them as female?