spring

purple crocuses bask in the warm morning sunshine

(or is that croci?)

cold

I button up tight 
but the icy gust 
inveigles it's way inside my coat

daughters tango

skirts swish to the rhythm
they sashay down the hall

more cat

a black and white sphinx guards the entrance
to Cheltenham road

magpie

soaring up in a bright white sky
wings wide
the shadow of its feathers starkly outlined

chirp

the chirp from outside the window
repeats in time with my breathing 

squirrel

hiding behind the trunk 
but I can see his startled shadow on the fence

Sunday morning lie-in

fingers curled again a chest rising and falling
and the soft ripple of his pulse under the skin

in quality save

a tiny wizened lady browses the bargains
followed by her matching husband

tired

a heavy dull cotton-wool-stuffed feeling
and dark shadowy eyes
not even relieved by a cup of tea

journey home

a tall man outside Greg's
dances back and forth
battling an invisible foe
with his sandwich


football supporter on the tram
talks twaddle
about totalitarianism

after Zumba

I ride home in the dark
the cold air prickles deliciously on my warm skin