I don't seem to be very good at words at the moment. I have a long article to completely overhaul before the end of the month and spend long periods fiddling with chunks of text then drifting off, virtually, to look at something less taxing on my brain. I had thought that perhaps in 2012, instead of taking a photograph each day, I might offer up a snapshot in words. In the thirteen days that have already gone by, I have only come up with two. Perhaps it gets easier.
Fine rain lit up by the lamp of a
supermarket car-park; swirling and darting like a flock of starlings.
As the yoga teacher talks, she rubs
her eye, touches her cheek, runs her finger along her lip, pushes her hair
behind her ear. Choreography.