The first basket I've actually bothered to make.

Flowers from the garden, where I see robins in the flesh and feather.

Bees and lavender. I have read two novels in which bees featured. Can't recall the names. They were good, but not that good. As for...

The feather of a buzzard.

Electric Kool-Aid Acid Feet

See how the older rose has faded but gained some rather fetching freckles.

...into the hermeneutical wilderness.

...maybe I'll have two families in my garden.

...the transformative force of a particular flavour of empathy.

...in my Viking dreams.

This must be a magpie's feather

So, I have ideas for two pieces of writing.

...I went to the river to paint stones.

This is a blackbird egg.

...I want to be a Viking and not a witch....

I didn't know that the foxgloves would so perfectly match the rose.

I lay on the lawn to meditate. My head shaded by the bamboo. Above, in the top leaves of the lilac tree, which are strangely gnawed and...

I am entangled in their lives, they in mine.

The cats have taken to sitting on a pile of clean and folded blankets on the windowsill in the sitting room.

Well, actually he went to the theraplate.