no. 1 Her yellow plissé trousers were a bit dishevelled by this time of night, the combination with a yellow leopard print jacket probably more than daring on others, seemed perfectly in the ordinary worn by her. Her blonde hair was already marred at the roots by the brown showing there, disclosing her true hair…
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The pond was lying still in the middle of the park, a stone-grey surface mirroring the clouds above. There was a small boy at the edge of the pond, he was bathed in birds; doves and sparrows flurrying around him in a storm. They were hopping on the stone floor in confused circles, traipsing on…
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London in autumn is a strange kind of beauty. Skies are blue and endless, marred only by the yellow leaves imprinted on them by the old oak trees in Regent’s Park. I live in an old brownstone block, the windows of my flat have white frames and red bricks framing the round end and sometimes…
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He was the maker of many things but most of all he made time. Time for the things that mattered most, like his grandchildren, his cooking, his writing. The art of making time was quite a complicated business, involving a lot of physics and mechanics and all sorts of matters that required a ready mind….
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