those quiet moments

while the house still sleeps are those

I claim for my own

twilight abstraction

pink blooms by a garden chair

the blurring of light

yoga in the park

fronds of blossom like pink clouds

a tree surgeon works

joyful twittering

so many birds enjoying

our containment

our cupboards are bare

of bread, milk and basic things

a long winding queue

middle of April

my poor car crusted in salt

last week’s icy roads

a garden centre

our visit like a party

amongst the flowers

gallus cockerel

plumage golden brown, strutting

‘midst a flock of geese

a proud cockerel

bemused by the nonchalance

of the large white geese

physicality

the new order of six, but

still we should not sing