Saving daisies

Mown daisies recover well in water

where some survive for several

days, propping one

another up in

egg cups











or saved


Doomed daisies or saved daisies?  I used to think cut daisies were doomed, but have since amazingly discovered…

(after being in the company of an overly empathetic  person for who the demise of such daisies would cause too much distress)

…that these fragmented flowers can find their way back out to the lawn, when conditions have improved sufficiently to support daisy life again (usually following a few days), and in fact, that egg cups simply provide a means of life support…

“All the daisies are saved!” I’d proclaim, as the (newly sprouted) specimens swayed cheerfully upon their stalks, while I attempted to stifle a mounting worry that I hadn’t replaced the cover firmly enough on the compost bin… and that my daisy resurrection ruse might be rumbled…

But the relieved smile of my child shone brighter than a saved daisy on a sunny day, and that’s why, for a while, no severed daisy ever perished in my garden. I was the secret saviour of daisies, a mini miracle worker.

Sometimes people still tell me that autistic children don’t feel empathy…




Red day

Today is a red day, and on red days I must see ten red things
before school. My little sister may think it’s cool –
but it’s not just a game I play – no, ten red things decide my day.

So far I’ve seen 3 cars, a hot air balloon and a hot air balloon’s flame
a robin, a fox , a container train. A sunrise cloud
(more orangey red – but that’s allowed). Now time’s running out…

So everyone starts searching and tension has mounted because everyone
knows that as yet I’ve not counted:

Moving things, not cars on drives, things going somewhere – anything
alive, and I’m starting to wonder just how I’ll survive
if I don’t find number ten. When… little sister shouts

look at the leaves on the tree up ahead and there’s silence
as the car holds its breath. I look up to the tree
see leaves which are red, falling, and with relief whisper…


Social training

(My boy isn’t too keen on social training… so I wrote this poem for him. It made him smile).


I’ve identified a lack of small talk. Chitchat. We need to have a conflab,

a chin wag, chew some fat. Look at me as I natter. Why not join in the chatter?

Have a blabber, it’s good to rattle, spread a bit of tittle tattle. I’m your intervention

and it’s my sole intention to provide the tools you need to converse, initiate social

discourse and ultimately succeed. I’ll sow the seeds for conversation so in any

situation you’ll be able to forge new relationships. Just listen closely to my tips.

Registration plates aren’t necessarily a conversation topic others choose

although very interesting (I’m sure), the desired outcome is to engage, not bore.

It would display that you are socially clever if you could gab on about the weather.

No, not a scientific explanation, or data from your weather station…

Start with ‘looks like it might rain,’ or maybe ‘turned out nice again.’

Let’s role play – pretend I’m actually a friend, the working week draws to its end,

you look at me, smile, and then you say ‘what are your plans for Saturday?’

Show me you’re interested with your eyes (this indicates keenness for my reply)

and when I say I’m going to town, try your best to hide that frown. Most of us

like to go shopping, hang out in cafes, drink some coffee. I’m sure if we carry

on this way, it’s something you could achieve one day.