Once around the park

Mount Ephraim, anticlockwise. 12.30pm.

noreply@blogger.com (Clare) — Thu, 15 Oct 2009 12:28:00 +0000

The workmen have parked up on the lawn. They are now sitting in their truck eating lunch and smiling at the newly cut bank. They've done a good morning's work.

Mount Ephraim, anticlockwise. 5.10pm.

noreply@blogger.com (Clare) — Tue, 13 Oct 2009 16:18:00 +0000

A dog on a lead shaking its whole self from grey muzzle to white tail tip: Flapple-apple-jink. Lumpish heaps of damp vegetation slashed from the hillside have a riverbank stink.

St Helena, anticlockwise. 2.45pm.

noreply@blogger.com (Clare) — Mon, 12 Oct 2009 14:05:00 +0000

It's as if an art teacher has come up behind you encouraged you to add red, yellow, brown, russet highlights to your picture. You're not sure if you want to.

Clockwise, Church Road and London Road: noon.

noreply@blogger.com (Clare) — Wed, 07 Oct 2009 19:41:00 +0000

A sumac tree has been cast out of the garden. It still glows like the embers at the heart of a fire. The cold evergreen hedge has closed behind it.

Mount Ephraim, anticlockwise. 11.30am.

noreply@blogger.com (Clare) — Sat, 03 Oct 2009 12:32:00 +0000

Two jays fly across the hillside. Their pink-brown plumage and mischievous chuckling make me think of streakers running around a sports field laughing at the police. Naked as jaybirds.

St Helena, anticlockwise. 2.30pm.

noreply@blogger.com (Clare) — Fri, 02 Oct 2009 15:22:00 +0000

Bottle caps push themselves up through the dust like the frilled caps of mushrooms. I imagine the beer bottles turning green then brown as they ripen silently under the earth.

Claremont Road, clockwise. 1pm.

noreply@blogger.com (Clare) — Wed, 30 Sep 2009 15:00:00 +0000

Their mothers have brought them to the park after their morning of big school. They are still in their grey uniforms, and they still sound like toddlers when they talk.

The Grove Park, Tunbridge Wells

Mount Ephraim, anticlockwise. 6pm.

noreply@blogger.com (Clare) — Tue, 29 Sep 2009 17:12:00 +0000

Bowwow, whose dog art thou? Sometimes you're with teenage girls, sometimes a bald man, and this evening two young women and toddler are talking while you dig in the leaves.

St Helena, anticlockwise. 6.35pm.

noreply@blogger.com (Clare) — Mon, 28 Sep 2009 17:41:00 +0000

The white house among the trees that wedges its sports hall roof into the horizon: I've walked around the streets where it's supposed to be, but I can't find it.

Mount Ephraim, anticlockwise. 6.30pm.

noreply@blogger.com (Clare) — Fri, 25 Sep 2009 21:30:00 +0000

Half moon getting brighter as we walk. Air is cooling. Teenagers sit in a ring (like fairy circle mushrooms). Now the bracken is cut, a natural amphitheatre has opened up.

St Helena, anticlockwise. 6.30pm.

noreply@blogger.com (Clare) — Wed, 23 Sep 2009 17:58:00 +0000

"Bit extreme isn't it?"

The Common scrubs its hand across the stubble. "Needed a tidy-up."

I can smell cut grass and earth in the autumn evening. "It looks very smart."

Mount Ephraim, anticlockwise. 4.30pm.

noreply@blogger.com (Clare) — Mon, 21 Sep 2009 15:37:00 +0000

Today clouds resemble: scales on the flank of a bream on the fishmonger's slab; greyish wisps of carded wool; mist on a mirror, or on a pond one cold morning.

Mount Ephraim, anticlockwise. 1pm.

noreply@blogger.com (Clare) — Fri, 18 Sep 2009 13:32:00 +0000

If I go out later, I'll see one of these two elderly ladies again. Her floral dressing gown will be peeping under her coat hem as she walks her dog.

St Helena, anticlockwise. 5pm.

noreply@blogger.com (Clare) — Thu, 17 Sep 2009 16:10:00 +0000

I am trying to plant my feet flat on the ground as I climb the zig-zag path. My ankles, knees and hams complain at every step. The weather's getting colder.

St Helena, anticlockwise. 2.45pm.

noreply@blogger.com (Clare) — Wed, 16 Sep 2009 14:37:00 +0000

Terrier puppy dabs at the ground with its white feet. It pulls the lead until it walks sideways. It drops down the slope and now only its wobbling tail shows.

Mount Ephraim, anticlockwise. 2.30pm.

noreply@blogger.com (Clare) — Tue, 15 Sep 2009 15:23:00 +0000

The blackberry season is over. The rain has beaten all the shining black beads to blots of sodden mush; and there is a purple-streaked fox turd on the path.

Mount Ephraim, anticlockwise. 1.30pm.

noreply@blogger.com (Clare) — Wed, 09 Sep 2009 13:19:00 +0000

The needle-sharp voices of a flock of tiny birds speckle the air. They loop round and round the branches as if they were darning a worn patch in the common.

St Helena, anticlockwise. 1.45pm.

noreply@blogger.com (Clare) — Tue, 08 Sep 2009 13:11:00 +0000

Two, four, six men on their way back to work from the pub. White shirts and black trousers jostle and expand to fill the pavement. Voices tussle to be heard.

St Helena, anticlockwise. 6.45pm.

noreply@blogger.com (Clare) — Mon, 07 Sep 2009 19:03:00 +0000

Grey tired umbels hold out brittle empty hands. They have nothing left to give. It has all gone to making the seeds fat, smug and glossy enough to leave home.

Mount Ephraim, anticlockwise. 1.30pm.

noreply@blogger.com (Clare) — Fri, 04 Sep 2009 14:18:00 +0000

Cherry plum stones crack under my feet. The fruit has rotted and dried and rotted on the pavement. I don't like to walk on it -- it seems such a waste.

Woodbury Park Cemetery, anticlockwise. 11am

noreply@blogger.com (Clare) — Tue, 01 Sep 2009 16:33:00 +0000

Police officer phones in broken gravestones: "About £2,000 of damage," she says. The secretary of the friends looks on, observing a bumble bee scrambling across the plane of her hand.

Today's post comes to you from Woodbury Park Cemetary, Tunbridge Wells.

Mount Ephraim, anticlockwise. 4.45pm.

noreply@blogger.com (Clare) — Mon, 31 Aug 2009 16:10:00 +0000

The fading willow herb stalks swaying in the wind are the kinked and spine collared necks of alien flora waving as they feed in the currents of an outlandish sea.

Mount Ephraim, anticlockwise. 6pm.

noreply@blogger.com (Clare) — Thu, 27 Aug 2009 17:13:00 +0000

Man wants to play fetch. The brindled dog with bow legs thinks it's much more fun to tease him by running round in circles so he can't get the stick.

Mount Ephraim, anticlockwise. 3.40pm.

noreply@blogger.com (Clare) — Wed, 26 Aug 2009 14:50:00 +0000

Blackberries jeer. Their plump faces grin down from high and thorn-guarded fortresses and compounds among the bracken. I tell myself they are inedible anyway, probably tainted by traffic pollution.

Mount Ephraim, anticlockwise. 4pm.

noreply@blogger.com (Clare) — Tue, 25 Aug 2009 15:44:00 +0000

This is a turbulent day of wind and sun and rain. A woman dressed in green lies on her back and holds up a book between her face and sky.