Category: writing and writers

broken

I’m pretty sure there’s no bus service that calls at the local supermarket, so I’m not sure why there is a bus shelter in middle of the car park. Perhaps it’s a trolley shed, though I don’t know why they’d need to be kept protected from the elements – especially as any that stay out after hours are most likely to be found wandering at the uttermost extremes of the car park, not tidily lodged for the night.

Whatever it is, though, bus shelter, trolley shed or something else entirely, where there are perspex walls, there is likely to be vandalism, so I was unsurprised to find one of the panels shattered when I was out on an early morning walk recently.
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leave well alone

I have no idea who would have put them there, nor why, but I found these strings of conkers looped around the railway fence when I went for a walk the other day.

They reminded me of my first visit to my brother’s house many, many years ago, where I found a collection of desiccated rabbits’ feet nailed to the shed door. I asked about them as I’d been told that Sammy the cat was a holy terror and I wondered whether it was a shrine to his hunting prowess.
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not floral at all

I said yesterday that most of the photos I take are of plants, especially flowers and seed heads, so today I was determined to post something that wasn’t floral.

And I’ve had the joy of spending most of the weekend copying the contents of a stack of old CDs onto an external hard drive, so I have a lot of photos to choose from. True, not all the files on the four dozen CDs were photographs, but the vast majority were. And having had a look through the first half dozen discs, I wonder why on earth I kept half of them.
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A closer look

Autumn is quite definitely here and the plants that grow in pots in my yard are looking decidedly the worse for wear. Yes, there is still a fair amount of greenery out there, but the flowers are all gone and there’s precious little sign that any more will come.

Well, I suppose “all gone” is not strictly true. There is a single blossom on one of the geraniums.
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(not) visionary poetry

This week I failed to celebrate two fairly important days.

Wednesday, 30th of September was International Translation Day, and Thursday, 1st of October was National Poetry Day in the UK. (I’ve mentioned before that I don’t understand why the UK has a different Poetry Day and a different Book Day from other countries, but I’m not going to chase that red herring today.)
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