SATURDAY 6 20
The early, blowsy
roses prematurely aged
by all the showers.
SUNDAY 7 20
No swan boats out on
the lake this summer and no
real swans there either.
MONDAY 8 20
Yellow irises
are everywhere, by ponds, tracks
in an empty pool.
TUESDAY 9 20
Six adolescent
ducklings interlaced with their
mother in the sun.
WEDNESDAY 10 20
A net of cracks in
the asphalt. When I draw them
they become a map.
THURSDAY 11 20
Bedraggled Queen Anne’s
Lace still holds its own against
nettles and brambles.
FRIDAY 12 20
Shiny mud churned round
a puddle, imprinted with
paws and trainer soles.
Seventeen 