1. The chickens all talk at once from their safe retreats: “there was a mink,” they call, “just there, just now”. Then later, as we pile bricks and stones to block the hole, they peck around us, relaxed and nosy once again.

2. Tiny silver bubbles decorate the damaged flesh.

3. We laugh about how there is a cluster of girls and a separate pair of boys but looking at the bigger picture, we’re all sat together really. Lily, Carla on my knee, me, B and John.

1. Sunlight peeks in. The plants glow in gratitude.

2. The sulky tired dog has gone away and happy Lily has returned. She rolls on her back, grunting, with a chunk of bone in her mouth. Her tiny white teeth look brand new against her bubblegum pink gums.

3. Rusty red thread tied in knot after knot. A pattern emerges.

1. Parcels filled with colour: dusky pink and warm purple zips, sandy felts, and wool the colours of a cottage garden in June.

2. The garden smells of wood smoke; the cat’s head of a sauna.

3. The biscuit’s satisfying crunch.

1. On Wednesday, I woke to snow: the beck at the bottom of the garden snaked a black gash through the white. Yesterday, the rain melted the snow and the beck gushed with grey. Today, I wake to blue sky: the water glistens silver in the sunshine.

2. The jokes flow as fast as the blood from my finger.

3. Concentric circles float away from the happy white dog.

4. Loud bursts of laughter.

1. I pull a red-striped sock from the inside of blue-striped one. It makes me feel like a magician.

2. To have no fear of the falling snow because I know my boots will keep my feet warm and dry.

2b. Silly transport issues grant me a surprise night off. I unpack my bag with a heavy heart – the Valentine’s Day themed games I’d planned will go unplayed, the lesson plan I had proudly concocted will go untaught – but I receive several hours of writing, then dinner with John and time sewing to compensate.

3. The feature-less colour blocks seem completely abstract until the final stitch of each piece is in place, then the shapes come to life.

0. I can’t remember how old I am when people ask, or what the date is on a given day – both have to be worked out involving counting on fingers – but birthdays of people from my past are indelible inked on my brain. Happy birthday J.

1. The paper looks like it’ll do nothing bar generate plumes of smoke then suddenly, whumph! The kindling above it glows and cracks.

2. To have focus for a change, an ongoing task that captivates and excites me. In the background, other, diverse, ideas jostle to be next.

3. The loudest sniffs in the world as Lily looks for her treat-stuffed toy.