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.

Open space, weather and turkey oak.

1. Even a small bag of books given to Oxfam has opened up space on our shelves for new books that we might want to read. 2. 'This weathe...