Presenting my first round up of daily Small Stones…
A pale-skinned, black clad and haired youth in 30C+ heat on the Windsor sidewalk. Is he dancing as if underwater, still drunk or high at 5pm on New Years Day? Or both?
Superbly ripened and resting on the grass, their yellowness like brilliant beacons inviting collection. On closer inspection though, they’re all too squishy to touch. Over-ripe. The best are still hidden between darkest green leaves and rusty brown branches.
The grey-haired man in the plain taupe shirt peels bark from the supermarket carpark tree, as if tidying up for company. Then wriggles down Nelson, towards Carlisle. Crossing to a street-light pole festooned with layers of posters, and cleans off excess sticky tape as it waves in the breeze.
She sits and stares with knowing golden eyes, her voice expressive tho I can’t quite catch the meaning. Her paw reaches towards my chest but we’ve yet to breach the human-feline veil that scrambles her thoughts for me and mine for her.
And then there’s Alfie, all three foot nothing with his shiny cobalt eyes and wispy strawberry curls. Skin glistening and his excited wee voice gleefully lisps “Toot! Toot!” on repeat.
Perhced on the weathered bus stop seat, sooty tail swinging and golden eyes gleaming, she waits for the bus. Oh kitty!
How can it be that such a thing – a profusion of glorious violet trumpet-shaped blooms – could in reality be a noxious weed?
Seemingly manifesting under my left armpit as though that’s where she was born. Flitters around my bike, then away! Over to the tall green shrubbery where her orange and black hues are more pronounced. How much of her life was this moment?