TUESDAY 26
The room reflected
recreates itself outside,
lights as a ceiling.
WEDNESDAY 27
Two bees intersect,
hovering over the banked
bed of primroses.
THURSDAY 28
More than four miles, the
longest I’ve managed since Black
Friday, months ago.
FRIDAY 29
A crow struts on the
lawn, its beak forced wide apart
by pulverised twigs.
SATURDAY 30
The last of the short
days, light tomorrow as far
as half-past seven.
SUNDAY 31
On the flagstones of
the patio, a pied wagtail
hops round the dog bowl.
MONDAY 1
Ichthyophobic,
I wouldn’t want a poisson
d’avril suck on my back.
Seventeen 