memory
Walking the Dog
Remaining bitterly cold, with raw easterly winds continuing to bring in scattered blustery snow showers from the North Sea… Not the best of days to be out, but then the weather rarely stopped him. It’d…
Relics
Going for a stroll, that’s what we did, come fair or foul weather. The dog needed his walk, whatever. And this was the game. Stop. Close your eyes. Tell me what you hear. The wind…
Always Here
Sparse grey hair, weathered skin, stained baggy trousers. His big toe pokes out of his right shoe, the left is split along the outer edge, the heel missing.
On A Winter Beach
Scouring, wind whipping sand, stinging eyes, nose, mouth. Grey churning sea. Deafening.
Winter Path
I never understood why he wanted to take that picture, it was so familiar; where a gate once stood, a chalk path leading across an open field.
Stepping Out
Through this train window I see bare winter fields; horses, houses, deserted stations, tracks and pathway; a green fence disappearing into water logged ground.
A Bouquet Of Flowers
Bouquets of flowers, each carrying a card, arranged on the dining room table. In the living room the conversation is halting, awkward. They stare at pictures scattered across a coffee table.
Skimming Stones
A man calls, a boy answers, somewhere in the distance a dog barks. Seagulls wheel and dive silently around Browns Point.