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Leaving for school, mask and sky watch.

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1. He shimmers past me like a fish heading into the fast water. 2. There is a Medusa mask, very stern and powerful, drying in the kitchen.  3. Nick is leaning out of the bay window and I'm holding the roof light hatch above my head. We are hoping to catch the spark of ISS rising up in the west -- and as the ISS Pass Tool and the Stellarium star map promise, it appears between Procyon and Jupiter. A win for international cooperation, and for predictability.
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Orange bag, Bogey Lane and another poppy.

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1. Waiting for us as promised is an orange bag of homegrown rhubarb. 2. We do not go down Bogey Lane. It's not because we're scared. It's because it would shorten our walk unduly. 3. ...and suddenly the bowed green bud is a red poppy.
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Poppies, passion fruit and seedlings.

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1. At the top of the bank, between pavement and empty air, a drift of orange poppies. 2. We got the expensive kind of passion fruit substituted into our supermarket order. They were as large as goose eggs -- but she only likes them once they've ripened and dried, collapsing into ridges and hollows. I halve one for her, and the scent crossing the table makes us think they're worth the extra money. 3. I am ridiculously pleased with my nasturtium seedlings -- nine pairs of leaves so far -- which will eventually spill over to cover the compost heap.
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Egg white, speaking up and a loaf of bread.

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1. I do not think that I will ever in my life whip an egg white to soft peaks without marvelling. 2. 'Ohh, great question,' says the lady next to me. 3. I return home triumphant with a cheese boule under my arm.
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Spring flowers, comparing notes and voting.

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1. On the way home we stop to test the unlovely scents of hawthorn, horse chestnut and cow parsley. 2. While she works on my teeth, we compare parenting notes -- it turns out we both occasionally gifted with surprise emotional reveals when all we really wanted was to go to bed. 3. To smooth over the fold in my ballot paper and post it into the black plastic box.
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Writing time, salad and back-up.

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1. A flat white in a speckled ceramic beaker, a sit-down and a scribble in my notebook. 2. Two fairly ripe tomatoes and a sharp knife. 3. I've been feeling vaguely anxious about backing up my pictures, so I do an imperfect tidy-up while we listen to the Folk Show and then copy the entire folder to an external hard drive. There are still more pictures to sift through -- but I do feel better for starting. 
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Midstream, starling and getting to sleep.

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1. It's a day when I'm stepping from appointment to task to event to task to event. Two things get cancelled -- and breathe. 2. At the front door, I glance around to find the starling who is dropping electronic blips and bloops and clicks from a high place -- he's on next door's TV aerial, sifting the airwaves for the latest sounds. 3. I bring myself round to sleep -- last thing there's hard science fiction in Rendezvous with Rama  and then in the small hours, a collection of death scenes by Turgenev.
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