Cemetery at Haworth makes the hair stand up on the back of your neck from the ghosts that walked there.

Early stroll. It’s misty; I can hardly see the cemetery in front of my face. From a distance I must be looming. A FOR SALE sign sprouts from a hedge. My stroll is a measurement of time and space. A cockerel’s theme and variations.

Despite bringing all possible available words down to 2 after my second guess I really struggled with this. That's probably because I've never heard of the word. More luck than judgement. 🫤 Good luck everyone. Wordle 1,674 5/6 ⬜🟨⬜🟨⬜ ⬜⬜🟨⬜⬜ 🟩🟨🟨⬜⬜ 🟩🟩🟩⬜🟨 🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩

A spiral staircase in a vast library. Who needs more? This also gives me an opportunity to give a shout-out to Susan Orlean's book, The Library Book, which traces the story of the 1986 Los Angeles Public Library fire and widens the narrative into how libraries shape and embrace communities.📚

Great news if you used to follow Lutra on Twitter. He is bringing his Somnambulations, Rorschach tests and hopefully his cheery good mornings to @bsky.app You can follow him on @reacctionary.bsky.social Welcome Cap'n Lutra! 😊

Early stroll. That tree seems almost too big for that garden. A TV plays to an empty settee. Those puddles definitely haven’t shrunk in the wash. Unusually, the dentist’s lights are on; they shine like teeth. This weather as animal: drizzly bear.

I was fortunate with my two regular starter words this morning. Three Club. Wordle 1,673 3/6 🟨⬜🟨⬜🟨 ⬜⬜⬜⬜🟩 🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩

I like this poem of the beauty of everyday things by the late Freda Downie from her 1995 @bloodaxebooks.bsky.social Collected Poems.

This is a picture of me holding the European Cup. I did not win the European Cup.

FIFTY WAYS TO LEAVE YOUR LOOFAH Just slip out the tub, bub Crush it with a handstand That kind of ploy, Roy Endears you to me. Force it down the lav, Trev Tear it into shards, pard Defenestrate it, Mic Hide it in a tree

Early stroll. I’ll leave that gleaming penny for someone else to pick up. A white van drives slowly down the pavement. The sky’s stained glass. A dropped rubber band as a description of a dance move. Uncorked birdsong.

My eyes lit up after the first two guesses as I thought I was going into Three Club. I thought wrong. Good luck everyone. 😊🤞 Wordle 1,672 4/6 🟩🟩⬜⬜🟨 🟩🟩⬜🟩⬜ 🟩🟩⬜🟩⬜ 🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩

First line of haiku Second line of the haiku Third line of haiku

Early stroll. That dropped sock is a foot long. Blue bins like geometric representations of summer sky. That parked car is usually facing the other way. Birdsong’s vivid aubade. If I name that ill-lit bus shelter as weird it becomes weird.

Wordle 1,671 3/6 I'm having good luck since returning to @bsky.app. Three Club ⬜🟨⬜🟩⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ 🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩

He's bringing the world together. Just not in the way he thinks. 😂

A nice entry into Three Club to mark a return to @bsky.app 😊 If you play, good luck! 🤞 Wordle 1,670 3/6 ⬜🟨🟨⬜⬜ ⬜🟨⬜⬜⬜ 🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩

The bell told The bell’s words The bell tolled Un-unheard

Ian McMillan is starting to post on here under @imcmillan.bsky.social if you want to follow your favourite stroller/newspaper-wrangler/poet/radio presenter. I always said I'd stay on Twitter until Ian moved. I'll continue to jump between there and here and see how it goes. See you all around! 😊

@imcmillan.bsky.social Hi Ian. Welcome to the other side. 😊

Ian McMillan's early stroll tweet. Early stroll. It looks like some clouds have tripped and fallen across the sky. Three pigeons fly down the footpath. A dropped rubber band in the shape of a melting B. A parked car wearing a shawl of fallen blossom. That pile of logs like a DIY copse.

Ian McMillan's back off his holidays. The angle of that FOR SALE sign suggests I can buy the sky. The risen sun tries to set fire to a tree. A carrier bag in the driver’s seat of a parked car. A crow walks across a zebra crossing. Someone stands at the top of a set of steps, cutting their hedge,

Pinned tweet from Ian McMillan. "Fewer tweets for the next few days because I’m out and about. If you see me sipping espresso and munching cake in a cafe somewhere give me a cheerful thumbs up!"

Bonus Ian McMillan tweet. Fred, Doug and I carry the papers into the shop. Fred and Doug discuss chocolate eggs. Doug points at a carp fishing magazine. A workman buys water, energy drink, cigarettes. The running woman runs by.

Ian McMillan's early stroll tweet. The sky’s long story goes on. A hopping magpie like an animated black and white film. The walking person on the footpath sign never gets anywhere. Where the traffic lights were there are ghostly glows. A man in a bright t-shirt asks me what time it is.

Bonus Ian McMillan. Fred, Doug and I carry the papers into the shop. Doug talks about the time he went to Barmouth for a fortnight and got two dry days. Fred remembers the time before coaches had air conditioning. Someone comes in and says ‘Where do your birthday cards live?’

Ian McMillan's early stroll tweet. Early stroll. Moss mosaics on a wall. Grey bins like extras in an absurdist film. A plane etches a line across the sky’s canvas. A man and his dog stand very still, then move at the same time. The old dancing school’s sign promises full training for the stage.

Bonus Ian McMillan tweet. In the paper shop a woman buys ten cans of Coke and says ‘Reyt, off to’t grindstooan.’ The woman from the care home buys flowers; her husband gets cash from the machine. Doug gets the shopkeeper to check his lottery tickets: no winners. No sign of Fred.

Ian McMillan's early stroll tweet. Early stroll. Birdsong is partly brittle, partly liquid. A Lost Cat notice waits in a bus shelter. Maybe the sky is a selfie of the sky. The photo-realist streetscape. A dressing gown of mist by the river.

Bonus Ian McMillan. At the paper shop two workmen arrive for vapes and energy drinks. I remember that Fred said he wouldn’t be coming today. No sign of Doug. The woman from the care home comes in. I fold my receipt.

Ian McMillan's early stroll tweet. Early stroll. A ghostly presence of smoke. A still pigeon punctuates a sloping roof. Birthday cards on a windowsill like folding time machines. A man in a camouflage jacket walks under a blossom-laden tree. The first bus drifts by.

Bonus Ian McMillan. He's at the paper shop, without Doug and Fred... I carry the papers into the paper shop. I am the only customer. The lights flicker on and the Slush machine cranks into action. I fold my receipt into my pocket.

Ian McMillan's early stroll tweet. Early stroll. I consider the angle-less sky. That bin is so full it redefines the possibilities of space. The streetlight wearing that length of string as a tie. Dropped bits of orange peel like discarded earrings. Three crows on a zebra crossing.

Bonus Ian McMillan tweet. At the paper shop Fred and I carry the papers in. The shopkeeper opens the bundles with a sharp knife. Fred tells me he’s been to fill up with petrol already. The Slush machine lurches into action. Doug arrives later on Saturdays, bringing his neighbour.

Ian McMillan's early stroll tweet. Early stroll. Clouds daubed across the sky. A blackbird hops rhythmically along a wall. A gull’s sound evokes the sea. Sawn-up trees make a DIY forest in a yard. That deflated, wrinkled purple balloon seems somehow sad.

Bonus Ian McMillan. Fred and I carry the papers into the paper shop. I show him the roll of masking tape I found on the pavement. No sign of Doug; Fred tells me he’ll be at home, watching his tomatoes grow.

Ian McMillan's early stroll tweet. My visible breath, floating. Birdsong seems to echo off that snail’s shell. A gang of traffic cones gathering at a street corner. An empty tin of white paint, like its own ghost. The small horse wanders through the trees, looking for a folktale to inhabit.

Bonus Ian McMillan. At the paper shop... Two blokes come into the paper shop; one buys energy drinks, one buys a loaf and coffee. Fred shows me a picture of the fruit cake Christine made for him. The woman from the care home comes in. No sign of Doug.

Ian McMillan's early stroll tweet. The sky seems temporarily heavy. Trees appear to lead simple, cyclical lives. I’m sure I had a shirt in the 1980’s in the pattern and colours of those tulips. A van almost loses the struggle against the hill. The traffic lights change from tomato to frozen pea.

Bonus Ian McMillan tweet. In the paper shop Fred tells us about a cake Christine baked him. Doug tells us about his haircut and a window latch. I finally collect my £2.80 Euromillions winnings. The woman from the care home comes in.

Ian McMillan's early stroll tweet. Early stroll. Streetlights converse with the sky. A snail’s slow journey towards a fallen leaf. An ironing board leans casually against a wall. A new number on an old gate. The way the moon slices into that cloud.

Bonus Ian McMillan. At the paper shop... A workman comes into the paper shop. Doug asks him where he’s going and he says Skegness. When he’s gone Fred, Doug and I comment on how far that is for a day’s job. As we leave, the woman from the care home arrives.

Ian McMillan's early stroll tweet. Early stroll. Mist by the river dreams of being fog. The sharp brightness of the moon. A champagne cork in a gutter. The pink pavement blossom tide is in. A timezone of dandelion clocks on a lawn.

Bonus Ian McMillan. In the paper shop. In the paper shop I talk about the rhyming clues I’m devising for our egg hunt later. Fred tells us he sat in the garden in the sun yesterday. He asks if I still litter pick and I nod. Doug will arrive later.

Ian McMillan's early stroll tweet. Early stroll. A football in a garden, waiting for kick off. I imagine that row of terraced houses as a piano keyboard played by time. A bird lands in a tree,disturbing blossom. Someone shouts SHURRUP at a barking dog. That bare bulb still shines in that bare room.

Bonus Ian McMillan. He's flying solo at the paper shop. I am the only customer in the paper shop. The shopkeeper can’t find the scissors so has to pull the bands on the bundles apart. He switches the slush machine on.

Ian McMillan's early stroll tweet. Early stroll. Security lights like burning monocles. A leaf in the shape of a croissant at the edge of the road. A map of fallen blossom on the roof of a parked car. The hill’s pact with gravity. A blackbird with one white feather: a scrap of snow on tarmac.

Ian McMillan tweets at the paper shop,where he introduces us to Chop. As I approach the paper shop I wave to Chop in his minibus. Fred and I carry the papers in. We talk about the bungalow with the pylon in the garden. Fred tells me he’s making a birdhouse today. Doug arrives later at the weekend.

Ian McMillan's early stroll tweet. Early stroll. Morning is crossing the horizon’s red line. A long receipt on a patch of pale grass. A bath towel draped across a fence. The bread van turns a corner sharply; the rolls might be rolling. The cockerel replays its greatest hits.

Bonus Ian McMillan. At the paper shop... At the paper shop Fred and Doug can’t remember the name of a particular driving instructor. Doug recalls when there were no papers on Good Friday. We all laugh because I’ve still forgotten to bring in my £2.70 winning lottery ticket.