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.

Salt, appointment and looking out.

1. A man from a white van is trundling and scraping a red plastic grit spreader around the car park, which has been an ice rink these last f...