I stood forlorn, my boughs weighed heavy; a shadow of myself, in a corner of the garden. Half hidden behind the garden shed, head bowed, ashamed. At first I had been elated at my promotion; From pot to soil, inside to out. No longer trivial - a plaything, dressed up by children in gaudy sash, but free to reach up high, to feel the sun, to sink my roots into endless, soft earth; to live. But was this living? A fruitless existence, a friendless realm. There was no admiration fr

Sitting under clear blue sky The morning sun shines down from high A breeze from wings of butterfly The joy of ordinary The kestrels soar above the clouds Prepare to dive to fields just ploughed Their keening sounds so clear and loud Announcing ordinary Lizards scuttle on the stone New generation, barely grown They chase a future yet unknown And search for ordinary The soothing eucalyptus scent Pervades the air with bold intent A lazy day, my time mis-spent? Immersed in ordin

I remember when it was cold for Halloween When an icy chill used to nip at my mittened fingers Jack frost would creep into boots to freeze my socks and ice my toes A big coat squeezed the breath from me beneath my costume - a sheet And my breath condensed inside a ghostly plastic mask I would hurry from house to house, Knocking on doors whose steps were decorated with ghoulish glowing pumpkins Collecting paper bags of toffee, home grown apples, pennies Until my knees were kno

Written whilst walking above Ogden Reservoir on Pendle. Ali’s bench is a memorial to Ali Watson and invites walkers to, ‘sit a while and enjoy one of his favourite places.’ I always do.   I sit for a while on Ali's bench And watch the browning bracken As the scuttling clouds Make their hurried way I feel my tension slacken No birdsong today as the mist hangs low Though I spy a kestrel soaring Whilst traipsing tendrils Of wind torn branches Caress the forest flooring A Jay swe

I can no longer deny the end of summer as October delivers a chameleon chill; can no longer cling on to its memory, whilst an emerald palette shifts towards amber I watch as dawn's misty chimneys rise to hang in the valley like ghosts, and fern turns crisp There's no looking back as nature reimagines the world; persuading me of a different perfection that exists without temperate warmth Instead, I look forward to the glassy crunch of frost beneath my feet Of icy dragon breath

I slept much better, woke refreshed, reluctant arms and legs uncurled The light more nuanced, colours vivid, air of motes that spun and...

Bird or butterfly? Peacock eyes watch from a bed of splendid iridescence Starlings’ movement sweeps in a syncopated and magical...

White door. Plastic. No number New carpets over stone floors Cracked paint on windowsill 90’s radiators   Paint job on old wallpaper...

Spring green Sky blue Primrose yellow Nature's hue Blossom pink Sparrow brown Iris purple Nature's crown Hawthorn white Heron grey...

You seem barely alive with your hollowed out trunk You can't stand up straight, are diminished and shrunk Anorexic branches, blackened...

Bourne in mid-May, it's almondy scent Ushers joy and ambition in silent consent A blanket of white as far as the eye As Hawthorn...

Its 6am and the sun is just rising A peachy hue on the distant horizon I raise my head, then stretch out and blink Yes, today will be the...

Ne'er speak the names of the fairie folk who bide 'neath the hawthorn tree For fear their benevolent ways may turn and their mischief be...

Out of bed and into the shower Ablutions done, we've got an hour! Husbands gone - this week on earlies Wake the boy and then the girlies...