Tuesday, September 23, 2008

Point, prints and push.

1. At the first stroke, the sharp new point on my pencil pops and crumbles into a tiny constellation, black on white.

2. Dry morning. No-one in sight. Dew wet footprints on the path get fainter step by step.

3. One last push late at night to finish my day's proofreading.

Rind, mustering and moon.

1. The crack of pumpkin rind as I bring the knife round the lantern lid. 2. Now they've been pointed out to me, everywhere I go, I see t...