A from-the-corner-of-my-eye, unfocused glance
startled by a ginger tabby, five feet up the conifer.
While mind throws up a juggle of lunatic explanations
eye looks again
and sees it is dead branch.
Surprised at the near-addiction which lead me to a never-before binge-watch of 86 episodes of a French detective series, I am equally so at the lack of guilt or withdrawal at the satisfaction of its ending.
Now to books.
How efficient is snow
Straight down, fined to near-invisibility
deposits, in just minutes
inches - three or four - on top of cars.
Soft-sludged to translucent
snow on ice on duckweed
colour of a much-hated 'tonic'
forced upon me when I was a child
Late up, late out and lighter
Musing on the character of a character
Knowing her outgoing, loving and giving
I realise she's a Friday child
And have the title of my yet-to-be begun novel.