Monthly Archives: February 2013
A wooden door opens and a smiling face emerges. Tousled hair and dirty overalls. No sharp sucking in of breath is the first good sign, the second is his tiny quote. Happily, we leave our car in his oil-blackened hands.
Taken from the oven, it hisses gently. A miraculous mix of eggs, sugar and fat. The knife slides in and out cleanly. A cake for my mother, who first gave me the gift of baking.
Five young brothers sit, shivering, in a damp and dirty cave. Like baby birds their gaze is fixed, hoping for their mother’s shadow to fill the glowing entrance. Instead, they see a cameraman, intruding on their frozen vigil, hoping to … Continue reading
They graze quietly by the motorway, as we rush past. One stops to stand and stare at us, who have no time to do the same.
The trunk stands straight against the stone wall, knobbly branches wriggling out. Bare as the winter wind, a skeleton exposed. Forced into unnatural lines, yet nature still prevails, in the willful waviness of the wood.
The thrush perches on the gutter, a bright yellow beak pecking at something juicy. Huge and swooping, a magpie arrives, a gutter-burgling opportunist. The thrush has gone, the coast is clear, but nothing is left for this beautiful rogue to … Continue reading