conclusion

For the past thirty one days I have written something every day. Even if it was only five words. Each settled quietly on my notebook page. No fanfares, no expectations. Most were a little shy, unsure and unwilling to be introduced to each other. Some would not budge from their chosen seat. Others stormed off without leaving a forwarding address.

Slowly but surely each little grain of sand formed a line leading me from the dry lookout of the promenade down to the water’s edge. Each urged me to dip my feet and paddle. I’m please those words had the patience for me. And perhaps I’ll repay each by tucking it to bed within an oyster shell and waiting for a pearl to grow.

In other words – I’m going to take each one of these small stones, these true moments from my January, and help them grow into something bigger, something brighter and perhaps a little more unruly. I’ve long found life more palatable with a hefty spoonful of sugar to help it down!

sitting in this doorway, framed and warming till the sun pulls away

She doesn’t realise she is touching her hair. She doesn’t know I have noticed.

mobile phone

I hear him rummage in the freezer for the bread rolls.

sunlight strobing through the treetops

waiting for the blown bulb to cool

a black hyphen of grease still on the back of my hand

all fingers and thumbs - counting travel Monopoly money

what should have been -

falling in love with the latin

names of seeds

lips meet, together yet apart - a greasy mark on the rim of the glass

pyramids of apple and slices of fudge – we could build a house from these

light plays from a single web-strand plucked by the wind

bitter grapes among the sweet

a passing van dashes lightspots across walls and ceiling

talk of welding, gypsies and the time he swallowed a matchstick

painting

arcs of beetroot juice across glazed white ceramic

Page 357, top right corner, squashed fly, one wing.

I remember when there was a plug of cotton wool in the neck of pill bottles.

rainy day -

only the bulbshoots

stand tall

a bucktooth vampire - two pills pinched between her lips

before the filmed bird can hatch the phone rings

a dulled gold envelope escapes the pile and drops to the floor

ninety degrees

She tilts the chargeable night light - exclaims surprise as it comes to life. I remember talk of animals hypnotised when you turn them on their back.

sunlight sticking to the leaves at the top of the tree

after folding the washing, the smell left hanging

rain spitted windows confuse the view

it rains throughout our conversation, even when he says it has stopped

flying by - a crisped brown butterfly or a purposeful leaf

a small pile of salvaged postage stamps

choosing the loose banana from beneath the bunch

angled so winter sun graces her stiff side

topless neighbour crosses his threshold, white belly wobbling