Eight terracotta pots of budding amaryllis on my window sill. I am expecting fireworks of white, red, pink any day now.

The bruise inside the crook of my right arm is turning green. I place my fingers on the slight swelling. The monthly tap, checking up how I am doing. Hello?

After three days of rain and unseasonally mild weather the garden is soft like a sponge. I count the little shoots of snowdrops and crocus. Come on lads, I whisper, don't be shy. I missed you.

seagull

Driving across the big bridge, a seagull flies dangerously close past my windscreen. Behind the steering wheel I duck.

Night. Listening to the rain. Warm and safe in my floating cocoon of dreams.

blue jay

Brushing my teeth, looking out of the window. A large blue jay lands on the tree opposite, sharpening his beak on a bare branch, whoosh-whoosh, back and forth. He turns his head, we look at each other. He flies off. I rinse my mouth.

Listening to David Fray playing Schubert. Thinking, this is thinking without words.