Blanking the Canvas

over imperfections,
papering over cracks,
appearances can be very…

At Tinker’s Coppice

We walk up the old railway track until we get to Tinker’s Coppice Crossing. I lean on the gate my companion by my side, “Me and Dylan used to live here Scoobs!” I realise my mistake as soon as the words have left my mouth…Scooby is gone. Dylan is too. My two boys are boxes of dust on my bookshelf. Rosie is a lovely dog but she is just borrowed for the week.
We stand there buffeted by a chill autumnal wind. Even the ivy clings on to its support for dear life – like some multi-handed tree hugger. We start to amble back home and on the ancient trees the creepers have grown conker-casing armour to keep out unwanted attention.
Looking upwards I blink as the rain fills my eyes. I feel…

Crocodile jaws and pleading paws

Crocodile jaws snap at the proffered biscuit. Hard-done-by amber eyes try and mesmerize the master into donating another. A glance at the tin then back to staring at those human eyes – obviously near starvation…just one more would suffice…
Then a nonchalant gaze at some point halfway between the two – studiously avoiding looking at either yet a barely perceptible quiver of the whiskers, a flare of the nostrils, reveals that the request has not been entirely abandoned…

Smothering the Sky

As the glowering blanket approaches from the East, Apollo makes his last stand in the West. A calebreseous mountain of golden vapour he rises; defiantly shining out a final showdown – but in countless shades of stormy grey, the new master of the sky slowly asserts his will.

Six Word Saturday – Dripping


Flaming Longboats!

In the best tradition I put my foot in it. I take my father to Morrison’s to do his weekly shop and while he is trundling up and down the aisles I see an old parent from school. We chat about our children and what they are up to now and then he says that he is still enjoying knocking people on their heads with bits of metal (ie into his Viking re-enactment activities) and has been all around Scandinavia, rowing longboats and generally having a great time. I reply that “it’s all good experience!” and then depart to stick my flaming cheeks in the freezer with the frozen sausages – I had meant to say “It’s all AN experience.” What would it be good experience for exactly…wanting to become a Viking when he grows up?


Soft meringue peak clouds
lay above the horizon,
wind-whipped for a day
of fewer pleasantries.

From small stones

Small stony faces google out in varied directions, characters fixed by those eyes…those eyes…each a matched pair – yet not one the same. Uniquely odd are these pebble pals.IMG_3046

End of the year trip

Yesterday we went on a class trip to Seaview Wildlife Encounter; despite their excitement, the children were very well behaved. Everywhere we looked babies were in evidence – from the tiny duckling almost getting swamped by the larger ducks in their rush to get to the food being thrown by the children, to the little albino Joey sitting under a tree and avoiding our tempting marsupial pellets by studiously looking at the eucalyptus tree. A lone young penguin stood facing the wall in his enclosure; appearing for all the world like a naughty boy sent to stand in the corner. All he needed was the dunce’s cap of yesteryear to complete the image – meanwhile he was missing out on the fish suppers that his fellow Humboldt penguins were being fed by Year Three’s fishy fingers.
After a lovely day in the blazing sunshine the children went home to hear that there was a new arrival in the royal enclosure and that in London the spectators were out in their droves too waiting for a glimpse of the latest addition to the royal suit.

Writing practise

Chloe sits next to me while I am sorting out the resources and we have an end of term chat about friendships. She starts to talk about the boys in the class and she reels off a list of them who have written her love letters. There seem to be an awful lot for an eight year old. I ask if Davey is still her boyfriend*. She says no but smiles as she speaks. She admits that Davey likes her and that Brad likes Daisy and Gemma and she thinks that Brad likes her too – he is one of the ardent letter writers. I overhear Bradley commenting to Poppy that he has noticed that she is a brilliant glue-sticker-inner and I sense another interest forming.
I shake my head at this complicated state of affairs, but am actually quite heartened that, in these days of technology, there is still a little romance left in the world – even if it is all downhill from the age of nine!


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