the snowmen's last stand

A small girl surveys a puny snowman made out of the last of the snow, while the stumps of other unluckier snowmen litter the hill. Birdsong scribbles through the half light.

wet

Sleetish rain, the ground slippy with a shallow lumpy wetness like cold sago pudding. Even Minnie sticks to the scant shelter of hedges and walls.

a dog's life

Morning trees are trimmed with frost and snow, picking out each angle and turn. Minnie has extra escorts to the park, an initiation into the world as seen by dogs. We meet Eric the puppy in his black furry jump suit and his clownish spotty feet. Minnie chases, he lollops, falls down in the snow, tries to keep up. The ground is scored by a thousand sledge tracks.

winter treats

The sledgers have worn away the best of the snow. The horizon's switchback rim paints itself in etherial blues, turkish pinks and misty greys and the earthy terraces stack and tilt. A lone snowman opens it's cold heart to the evening. We amble home, full of chocolate fudge and Winalot treats.

it's here

Snow at last and the sledgers are out - inside their own Dutch landscape painting, trudging up and squealing down. Three snowmen on the go. It is delightful and delighting. Everyone plays.

walking it off

Boxing Day and we three siblings meet a furry man walking a ferret, two children scooting and a wayward terrier. Damp. Good to breathe.

circling

Two women and an unborn baby, we strew our chatter as we circle the park. Baby's dad bobs and leaps through the words, breaking the circle. Like two silly clockwork toys, Minnie and a little black puppy circle and chase too and have to be saved from their own madness.

bitter

Last night's highest full moon is remembered by this morning's silver sky, low on the hill's horizon. Higher up, aeroplane trails slice through the blue. Seagulls, aerial sequence dancers, float and turn, float and turn, weightless as tattered carrier bags. The cold bites through the leather to my finger bones.

what?

Morning. Clumps of white fur by the gate - late night Akita-fighting? Minnie barks at a broom and skitters off like a manic black cartoon-dog through the leaves. Rooks noisily clear their throats and brood on the bare branches in their midnight opera cloaks. A man with a bulging bag of breadcrumbs stops by a tree.

birding

The park is still - no wind, each boot step crisp and clear. Chaffinches flash and flit. I listen carefully, to a strange shrieking bird. Earnestly scan the trees. The sound is coming from a squeaky ball in the jaws of a big black dog.

now and then

Wet. Everything dressed in drab. The city heaves under the ghosts of past smog and murk.

well met

A morning and an evening with Minnie - in which we meet a scared Rottweiler, a scruffy Glaswegian with his own darkroom, some clacking magpies and a bright yellow leaf sucking machine.

the test

Lahore dreaming at the top of the park where Pakistan plays wintry cricket among the dank leaves. Bad light stops play.