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frankie carboni
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Awake August 15
While celebrating the full moon with a simple ceremony, I breath the fragrant weight and completeness of the cup, the warmth of the circle within and without, endless spaciousness in my hands.

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Awake August 14
Skeins of cloud usher in a cooler morning; the fridge hums a happier song.

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Awake August 13
Grey falls like a soft blanket over the blue, summer raindrops thud slowly onto the garden umbrella.

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Awake August 12
Pausing, I stood between the damp billowing sheets, enjoying their cool lavender caress.

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Awake August 11
Making tea I realise that part of the intrinsic pleasure is cupping the warm body of the teapot, feeling how its roundness fits into the palm of my hand.

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Awake August 10
Three small butterflies dance along the geranium hedge, accompanied by the music of the city and the unwavering attention of the white cat.

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Awake August 9
On the vets table she is stilled by fear, her eyes, usually an inscrutable jade, are huge and deeply black in her small triangle face. Holding her, I feel her heart pounding like a tiny drum. She suffers in profound silence.

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Awake August 8
Rival gangs of young blackbirds fighting raucously for figs scatter suddenly to their separate roofs. The cat is sneaking up the tree.

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Awake August 7
Washing the dishes - loving and revisiting and remembering the texture and colour of each item, its history, its use, the feel of it in water and out - knowing that I'm washing the dishes.

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Awake August 6
Grating cucumber, the smell of cool green
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