by Sue Blundell


by Gemma Cooper-Novack

It’s the kind of day where
you’re supposed to live someplace
like this: birds swell with
melodies and sunlight dips beneath
buds on the profligate
trees. It’s the kind of day
when at thirty-one you could
have been someone else by now. Bushes
are rampant with novel
color and thicken the
air with scent; scalloping laces
the doorways and it’s the kind
of day when you should step through one
of them, should shuck
your shoes and put your bags
down and twirl a glass of
rusty wine over sundrenched wood.


About the photographer: Sue Blundell is a teacher, writer, mythologist, and friend of friendless shoes. Find her online at She took this photo of Michaelmas daisies in late September in her Central London garden.