diversion at the dentist: stone #28

A fountain of water before my eyes, only partly obscured by latex clad fingers. I glance up to see a glassy eye looking down on me. Large, green, focused. I feel miniscule, a helpless object awaiting dissection. I close my eyes and the noise of the drill engulfs me.

stone #27

Floating backwards and forwards on the playground swing, my stomach churns. Before this queasy, motion-sick woman arrived was a girl who twirled and whirled and somersaulted her way into adulthood.

stone #26

My son and I are collage-image seeking. Scouring the pages of National Geographic I happen upon a place so magnificent I stop breathing for a moment: the Kansas Prairie. I am reminded of the wonder of this world, and realising I will never see it all I experience a sensation akin to loss. 

stone #25

The air bites at my cheeks, whistles round my ears, brings tears to my eyes. I don't care; the sun shines. Grass is rendered a blinding green, my shadow sharp as I follow it home. 

insomnia in suburbia: stone #24

Lying awake in the dead hours I feel like the last person on earth. Husband away, no rise and fall of shallow breathing beside me. I move to the window and pull the curtain aside. The street is empty; not a cat or a fox to watch. All is quiet. No drone of engines, sirens and helicopters. No all night party beats. No drunken staggering, no cans rattling along the pavement. The city was never like this.

stone #23

behind the grey shroud lies another world
a splintered sky, a sliver of topaz
pushing its way through

stone #22

Eight years old: split lip, warts, lice, red eyes. You can't read; you find it difficult to make friends. Best years of your life? Let's hope not.

silver screen: stone #21

rustling and anticipation fills the air
adverts over, ice cream vanished, the curtains close and open
we submit to another world

stone #20

A tang of chemical air, ripples of slippery flesh, splashes of laughter and zest in the atmosphere. A summer world inside a concrete box.

boy sounds:stone #19

Noises the boys make as they play warm me in a place so deep it's easy to forget its there. Words are few, but there's a universe of emotion in those whooshes, peryawwws, neeooows, kerwhizzes, and chchchchchs.

stone #18

Cold seeps like ink into blotting paper (remember that?). It steals away toe tips and fingers' ends, pilfering sensation, depositing a sting residue. Radiator metal heat pulses against spine bones, unable to spread like molten lava, a hot core only.

more like a boulder: stone #17

Today’s stone is so large that it’s more accurate to call it a boulder. Apologies for breaking the rules…

I don’t write crime and have never had any desire to do so. Until now. Maybe.
I’ve been thinking about the strange encounters police officers experience in their day-to-day working lives. I’m not talking about the big stuff – murder, robberies, assault – but the little things.
Why? At 6.30am I awoke to the sound of GingerTwo calling me. It is unusual for him to wake up at such an ungodly hour, and it is doubtful I would have arisen with quite so much haste had I not thought I heard a single tap at the front door. Dazed and bleary-eyed, I stumbled downstairs, clutching GingerTwo’s sticky hand, wondering if I’d imagined it.
As we crossed the hall, it came again: a distinct rapping at the door. I peered through the window at the bottom of the stairs. Two police officers, one male, one female, shuffled on the doorstep. Without a second thought I flung open the door. A look of horrified bemusement washed over the young (yes, yes, I know…) man’s features; I was in a t-shirt and knickers. He spoke. But, realising the sight I presented, I did not hear the words and replied, ‘I’m half naked,’ before turning to climb the stairs in an attempt to retrieve another item of clothing.
As I went he said, ‘Are you *****’s mother?’ Perhaps he thought I looked too young to have a teenage child? Okay, okay, this is nonsense, but it was worth a try… When I replied that I was not, that ***** lived at number *, they both bumbled profuse apologies, and made their way to the correct house.
So all day I’ve been pondering. Like doctors, police officers encounter people at their most raw, sometime most guileless. They see us without our clothes on, both literally (in my case) and metaphorically. No wonder so many authors write about them.
The young person in question is perfectly safe, had come to no harm. I wish the same could be said for the young copper. I doubt his eyes stopped smarting all day.

stone #16

Peering through a window drenched in condensation we sit under a fat moon. Dressed in circles of blue-green, red and yellow, like slick on oil, a fading rainbow, she presides over the deepening sky. Full moon, full moon! the wereboys howl, enchanted by her spell.

stone #15

against a welcome sun sky
the roofs look redder than
I have ever seen them before
like lego

tax confetti: stone #14

The big man and I are grappling with end of year accounts. Like newly weds on church steps we are surrounded by scraps of paper. Neither of us is particularly numeric, nor are we keen on this dreary, if important, task. There is something very wrong; the figures are ridiculous. We catch each others' eye and grimace. He is a little boy again, confused but amused. We've been caught out being silly, slow. I write 'must try harder' on a piece of tax confetti and we fold together, laughing.

heavy: stone #13

Bound by fear, face down on the bed, the duvet oppressive despite its weightlessness. I am crushed; aware of my knees, elbows and chin pressing down. Indentations on the mattress. I will push the fear away; I am strong, heavy, existent. See the marks I make.

stone #12

A horse wrapped in a duvet, belt buckled tight at the neck, watches the small dog jumping and yapping. A city dog that has never met a horse before. A sea-green coated creature with hot breath held up by stick legs in shoes.

Nervy: stone #11

Synapses: beautiful, like an open palm, like an exploding firework, a shooting star, coral in the reef, an alien insect. Messengers in the machine that is the body.

happy men and sheep - two stones

No laptop yesterday, so two stones today:

stone #8
The trolley dolly on the train - a rough-cheeked fellow in a blue uniform straining across his belly - fights January malaise. The squeak of tired wheels, a bitter draught, and a cry, 'Ice creams!' Silence. 'Coffee! Water hand-filtered from the granite rock of the Pennines!' The blue air carries no reply. He pushes on. Squeak, squeak. ‘Ice cream! Vipers’ noses, sea snakes’ venom…’ His happiness as robust as the travellers’ torpor.

stone #9
Sheep are jumping in the field. Sheep, not lambs. It is only January. I have never seen this before, or noticed. Sheep are dull, empty-headed creatures, or so I thought. I have been tricked; there is more behind those stone eyes. Mischief, unbridled joy.

stone #7

Snow has fallen once more. I watch the birds in my mother's garden in Wales, and I am reminded of school children in a playground. The majority: chaffinch in their blush uniform, hopping and pecking on the white lawn. A lone wagtail hovers beneath a shrub, sheltering from the crowd, the unpopular kid with bad clothes and an unfortunate tick. Starlings, the bullies, muscle their way through the throng. A wood pigeon perches on the wall, like the lunchtime supervisor, keeping a watchful eye.
Of course, the birds are scavenging for scraps in the frozen landscape; the price of a picture postcard snow scene: starvation.