Fuel

A splash of petrol on the rain soaked tarmac
becomes an iridescent starburst in the middle of the road

daughters again (again)

ahead of me down the street
sturdy winter boots and long fluttering coats
one aged leather
the other purple velvet

(more daughters)

eleven thirty

watching the gold threads in the curtains
while sleep drifts me away

Sunday morning parcel

two muffled voices within 
argue about opening the door
so I leave the box on the step

Rain again

the quiet darkness of the Princess Road underpass is a momentary relief
from the incessant pitter patter 

Shadow

A long lean shadow trudges wearily ahead of me down Beaver Road

poetic puddles

Inky black pools frozen in pavement crevices
surrounded by delicately frosted fallen leaves

Braving the frost

On a sunny window ledge there are strawberry plants in flower
a couple of tiny green buds promise a tantalising hint of summer sweetness

sunrise

a hazy pink stripe across the frosted bathroom window indicates that day has arrived

university challenge

the three classics students turn and look expectantly along the row
to the blue jumpered physicist at the end

train

"The 19.17 to Manchester Piccadilly is now boarding at platform 16."
Not so much a tidal wave, more a rip-tide, of wheeled baggage evacuates the concourse 
and flows down the corridor to the gate.

In Starbucks

Cosy and smug in the leather armchair
relishing the autumn sunshine 
a vague ghostly shadow of the heat haze 
drifts over the page of my book