On Monday, I found a pigeon’s feather, 

lying on the path,

abandoned and alone, 

until the wind carries it away. 

On Tuesday, I walked to Healey Nab,

running up the hill,

desperate for an adventure,

like an unknown explorer. 

On Wednesday, I saw ducks swimming in the canal,

ripples of water following behind,

quacking for food in the pockets of passers by. 

On Thursday, I touched the trunk of an oak tree,

swaying in the wind,

like a creaky old door.

On Friday, I tasted the creamy vanilla ice cream, 

that comes from Fredericks shop,

the speckles of black staining my tongue.

On Saturday, I hear the sound of birds chirping their wake up song,

flying past my window,

looking for food to feed their young. 

On Sunday, I dreamed of the past week, 

I lay in my bed,

smiling to myself,
realising how good it truly was.