Monthly Archives: August 2013
He stands at the supermarket checkout, wingeing. His balding head shines and his white shirt moves as he slings his shopping into the trolley. The cashier and I exchange a glance of exasperation as he witters.
It flies lazily, in circles, above the kitchen compost bin. Its chestnut-brown tininess is nature’s deception. Its presence is a warning of a troublesome infestation.
Five people sit on red squashy sofas, intently watching the large TV screen. Engrossed in the story, experiencing the highs and lows together. A temporary bond but a powerful one.
I stroke it through her fur, leaving perfect lines. She loves its white plastic bristles, its red wooden back. Eventually she’ll start to play, but for now she just luxuriates.
Hidden inside the beer bottle, it makes me start when it rushes out with the water. Drowned already, it lies on its back in the sink. An unloved insect, innocuous in death.
It sits in the undergrowth, wings stretched out in the sudden, late afternoon sun. As I approach, it flits low over my path and disappears. My spirit is lifted by this reminder of nature’s constant presence.
He lies on the dashboard, his back pressed against the windscreen. His head flops disconsolately onto his front paws. His sorrowful eyes gaze at the pub entrance, all hope lost. A fog of depression fills the parked car.
They nestle in the little cardboard box on a pad of cotton wool. Her first pair of proper studs – little pink boots. She says they look like they are dancing on a cloud.
She starts it behind her head, then expertly flicks it round to the front and ties the end off with a hairband. She is so young yet growing fast, as the deftness of her plaiting shows.