The Wronged Tree.

The back lane, this new-year dawn, is littered, bleakly - tumbled bins, spent bottles, knuckled tabs, sodden boxes; hound shites, plastic wraps, a quilted headboard, yellowed hand towel; wrapping-paper tumbleweeds troubling parked cars; a bloody gown of herring gull (gutting something); and the last, the very last, or the first, Christmas tree, skulking and skittling … Continue reading The Wronged Tree.

New Brighton

New Brighton - where the sun shines, even when it rains. As he leaves the shadow of the station, Sam is bathed in a sense of being on holiday, of being abroad, of being. The sun shines on New Brighton. He puts on his green shades. The sky is bigger here; the seagulls, unlike the … Continue reading New Brighton

An anagram of Dorset

cobb gate.

West Bay, she said. Oh, the other side of Golden Cap. Depends how you look at it. I Guess. * She recorded ambient noise onto tape. Well everyone needs a hobby. And when she returned she brought a gift. - Recording of Chesil Beach. I play it on headphones when I can't sleep. Wake up, … Continue reading An anagram of Dorset