While I’m fond of you, frankly my dear Alexanders, you smell terrible. Spring has brought your tiny stinky sulphur flowers with lavish curls & deely bopper stamens. An aphid languidly waves antennae under my scrutiny, lumbers through the flowering umbel & then plays peekaboo behind the juicy trunk of a stem.
Three parakeets eating crab apples. Peck, spit, peck, spit. Maybe this bit will be nicer? Or this bit? Or even this bit? Or perhaps this one? Or that one? Or the one over there? Now look you lot. They’re sour goddammit. They’re always going to be sour. GIVE. IT. UP.
Suburban high noon. Grass alleyway between garden fences. At one end, a fox. At the other, two crows forage all casual-like, their nest in a sycamore overhead. Fox inches forward. Stops. Starts. Watched every step. Nah, not worth it mate. He turns and lopes away. I breathe out gently.
Opalescent light across the estuary at Rainham marshes as the fog lifts. My good friend Sophie’s a welcome change from lone excursions; we chat & look, flipping from plants to birds & back. In a spindly tree, a marsh harrier hulks, then lifts on oblong wings. A second tracks the line of pylons. High above, […]