Tag Archives: fingers

12th November 2013 – hand

Posted on November 13, 2013 by Liz Terry

He stretches it up from the pushchair; tiny and perfect with bright pink fingertips. Fingers splayed, he reaches for Mummy. She enfolds his in her own. Safety, warmth and comfort on a crowded bus.

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28th September 2013 – beetroots

Posted on September 29, 2013 by Liz Terry

Thick green leaves with red veins like arteries. A red stalk leading down to black, bulbous heads. Pulled from the earth and deposited here, they shed soil onto the cardboard beneath them. Inside dwells sweet red flesh, and juice which … Continue reading →

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21st September 2013 – accordion

Posted on September 22, 2013 by Liz Terry

Flashes of red appear as its bellows sigh in and out like lungs. Deft fingers traverse its keys. The music seems too polyphonic to come from its slight frame. Musician and instrument meld together, the one providing breath for the … Continue reading →

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20th July 2013 – sheep

Posted on July 21, 2013 by Liz Terry

Obviously well used to being petted, she looks up at me with her small eyes, her long woolly fringe hanging like dreadlocks. I stroke and scratch her tightly curled head, feeling the lanolin slippery on my fingers.

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20th March 2013 – busker

Posted on March 21, 2013 by Liz Terry

I hear him before I see him, his music filling the high street. He stands, swaying to his own tune, holding an ancient saxophone. His breath and his fingers produce a liquid sound, slowing people down as they pass, making … Continue reading →

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