Radial TARDIS and angel wing mandala

You will not believe what the new lodger in number six has done with the back yard. He came on Tuesday with one trunk and a canvas bag of tools, and by Thursday there was a tall blue box standing between the coal bunker and the washing line, the sort the constables used to stand in on the front before the war. I asked him what it was for. He said it was for getting out of weather. I did not think that a reasonable answer until Friday's gale, when I stood in its doorway with the milk can and the wind stopped dead on the other side of the planks.

He has been cutting stencils from old card all week, long feathered wings and little white windows, and pinning them up in the scullery so the kettle steam gets at them. Mr Harrold from the chemist's says it is a sort of snowflake, eight boxes going out from a flower in the middle, and the wings fan between them like the spokes of a wheel. The lodger calls the flower the heart of the thing. I told him that was a lot of feeling for a bit of paper, and he laughed and said the paper had been through worse.

Last night I heard the scrape of chalk on the scullery flags and went down with the lamp. Eight blue doors had been drawn round the edge of the floor, and the wings were running out from them in white lines. The lodger was nowhere. His bed was made so tight you could bounce a penny off it, and on the pillow there was a note in pencil: Gone to see about the weather. Keep the lamp lit for me, Ada. Don't let them sweep the chalk.

I have not swept it. Come at Whitsun if you can, and bring your good shoes, because I am told the tide goes out a very long way here and I want you to see it with me before the box comes back.