7:05 am

Everything was white,

I had a miscarriage,

Everything was white,

I had a miscarriage in my dream,

Everything was white,

But although it was only a dream it felt very real,

Everything was white,

I could feel the physical pain of the miscarriage,

Everything was white,

In some cultures white is the colour of death and mourning

Driving out of Hebden Bridge on the steep of the Haworth Road,

Woods give way to the high moorland,

where you can see the whole of the Calder Valley fall below,

Deep snow, lying in clumps between the bog grass, the sun shinning, magnifying its white beauty,


I spot a bird of prey hunting, its easy to catch your dinner in the snow,

The bird swoops and glides,

My finger taps the window at the back of the car to indicate its position to Naoise,

Where, where…….there, there, he fails to find it


We pass the cat rescue place, where both my cats were adopted,

They were sisters, and we named them Frida and Zelda,

Frida was cheeky and playful slightly smaller than her sister

Zelda was cool, a hunter, an exceptionally attractive supermodel cat with large killing paws and claws,


I have been deliberating whether to get a new cat,

But it needs to be very young, preferably a kitten,

Its my replacement baby,

I want to mother a kitten,


We search the charity shops of Skipton for unknown treasures,

Naoise finds a stash of old film cameras and spends a long time sat on the carpet of the shop exploring their functionality,

We eventually separate him from the cameras and look elsewhere,

I am trying to find a tea pot, but the search has eluded me for over a year,


In the department store, after spraying perfume on wrists and exploring seventy percent blue cross clothes items,

We look at white polite teapots,

I refuse to buy these blank canvases of domestic boredom,

A teapot has to at least command the attention of a table with a pattern, an emblem, a colour, something,


The sunset on the way home is glorious, its getting lighter in the evenings, not dark till five now,

The moon is almost full in the sky,

Patrick makes mushroom risotto, Naoise refuses to eat a thing, overtired perhaps,

We watch a film, slump on the sofa, drink red wine.

The oven buzzer sounds, thirty minutes have past……















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