A compound word for the growing intuition of your own internal physical structure based on the parts that become audible over time.
My first prompt: a crime caper in a kindergarten featuring a proud mother…
So just your bog-standard Muppet Babies / Oceans 11 mashup.
Tiny hail that sounds like sand falling.
One of those days when the ground is brighter than the sky.
MacBook-chassis-causes-pain weather.
Kids in hugely padded hoods playing in a half-inch of snow under a streetlight. You forget the gloriousness of weather as you get older.
Better to be caught in a blizzard than face those two ancient mattresses and whatever might now lurk inside the broken, abandoned freezer.
One just tried to break into my garage in disgust. Didn’t like the look of it. Don’t entirely blame them.
Neighbourhood cats hiding under cars.
Snowfall! And the muffled, distant complaints of birds.
The end of my first week back at work after a three week break and I’ve managed to sleep strenuously enough to hurt my eyes.
We have entered the Screaming Chimney days of windy winter.
Yet a single meaty cloud passes and you no longer have enough light to see across the room.
It’s the season of accidental shiny-surface-induced blindness.
I’d forgotten how the Big Christmas Tree acted as a diffuser. At this time of year any unobscured sunlight comes in through the rear window like a laser.
The perfect winter’s evening reading soundtrack: loud-enough-to-be-heard wind and empty-sounding streets.
December is when I started to follow mainly photographers and artists on Mastodon rather than predominantly just the same old ‘opinionated tech’ folks from the other site. No regrets.
Ah, here we go, the first vague anxiety of the new year: wondering if the neighbours silently judge me for the Christmas lights still blazing from every surface inside the house like a lighthouse beam.
Strong winds and the low winter sun turning trees into disco balls.
The precious discovery of an unopened, family-size box of Maltesers that mysteriously survived Christmas.