Thursday, April 16, 2009

Shell sound, that's what a squill is and no porpoises.

1. All week my father has been blowing on winkle shells to make them whistle

2. My aunt shows me tight-curled squills -- tiny fists that have squeezed themselves blue -- hiding in the rough clifftop grass.

3. There are no porpoises to be seen, but there is the wind thrumming on the cables of the coastguard's radio mast; and a white pony that gravely lips my open hands.

Stored, share and collecting.

1. When I turn out a pot, I find fat worms writhing in the soil, and a bright gold centipede, and a handful of bulbs waiting for next year. ...