Oil on Canvas
My fingers touch dry strokes, from a brush, on a canvas from last year. So delicately you worked that piece. The landscape, brilliant greens and soft browns, ochre fused with other blends from a palette. Beautiful depth and life, on taut cotton, on pine. My fingers move gently over trees and hedgerows, and I imagine
Fava Beans
Tonight’s soup with crusty bread, as on Saturday, but tonight with some Fava beans from Franks. A dirty window-box, overflowing from above, when I arrived. Poor Mrs Rodriguez, her hand trembling on a watering-can, immensely irritating, splashing on fresh trousers collected from the dry cleaner, a quick bite before the show, War Horse in a