Spire

The church repairs are finally finished and instead of the cumbersome tower of scaffolding the puddle again reflects only the slender, ethereal spire.

(exceptional addition of photo to kind-of make up for missed days)

Teeter

Bus stop: alighting passengers surge towards the back door. The first one teeters, turns and pushes back - outside is a deep, dark puddle too wide to step across.

Sheepish sky

Clouds from a child's picture book: plump, puffy sheep dozing on a blue blanket.

Aftermath

Smoke and sirens:
the smell and sound
of unease.

Soup

Green, gloopy, grainy, creamy, clumpy, tangy, fibrous, viscous, luscious fennel soup.

Office, evening

The framed view of brick wall and windows grows darker as the clamour rising from the unseen bar just below grows louder.

Tunnel

The long, straight, sunbleached path is a tunnel between shadows: mindlessly, one foot in front of the other.

Redcurrants

Edible necklace of red glass beads: all these small, sharp pop-pop-pops of pleasure strung together.

Puffy

This dull warmth with low, puffy clouds and the air thick with emotions like a sponge full of water and waiting to be squeezed.

Rosebud Gong Fu

No rosebud in the first expectant sip, but then a bitter-sweet, dried-pink flowering on the tongue.

Streak

The streak of orange is a fox in the road - we hear, but never see them; so much suddenly unleashed and surfacing.

Silky

The dark, silky cover, painted with yellow letters, opens to creamy pages where fingers love to trail and linger: no such sensual pleasures from an e-reader.

Hard

I'm finding it hard to continue this exercise right now. There are difficulties in my personal life that sometimes feel too much, and then I find myself withdrawing increasingly from the present moment, operating in robot mode, seeing little of what's around me. On top of this came the riots in London, a shout-out that it's not just me: the whole of life, of our society at least, teeters as close to the edge as I often do as an individual. In the face of all this, I think it's more important than ever to have a practice of being quiet, being present, paying attention. So I don't revoke my commitment to doing this, but there may be days when I don't manage it.

Rumours of riots

8 pm: the sky grew dark and rain began to fall. The street was empty and almost silent. The shops had closed their eyes, pulled down their steel eyelids.

Toasty

Sunshine: fragrant, toasty, blackened at the corners
- needs some butter.

Wake

Wake again to the sound of raindrops pooling in my navel.

Glass

A fine and fragile
water glass
with bell-shaped rim -
like drinking from
an open flower.

Damp

The rain has stopped. Today's damp comes from trickling sweat and tears.

Trousers

Through the front window of the bus, a back view of the cyclist's madly pumping calves in tight white trousers.

Clock

Clutched awkwardly under her other arm - the one not wielding the mobile she's bellowing into - is a large, battery-operated wall clock.

Lavender

The sky is the colour of the overripe lavender flowers whose perfume rolls on the stormy air.