TUESDAY 23
Weather changing, palms
blown in the breeze outside the
Syrian café.
WEDNESDAY 24
My walk back doesn’t
coincide with rain, so my
jacket is pointless.
THURSDAY 25
Hail stones in gutters
make see-through domes across the
surface of puddles.
FRIDAY 26
On a corner in
this landlocked city, the smell
of brine in the wet.
SATURDAY 27
The dovecote open
today. The wreath from Christmas
taken away at last.
SUNDAY 28
The advice is not
to use devices in the
park because of thefts.
MONDAY 29
A couple crouch for
silent conversation with
the gathered mallards.
Seventeen 