A clematis montana alba grows through the bay tree in our front garden. Last year the tree had to be pruned and the clematis didn't flower. I thought it might be dead, but this year its white, star-shaped flowers are pushing through on top of the bay and at the sides.
There is an unculitivated strip of garden in front of one of the houses in Mount Sion. Recently it was a mass of bluebells. Now the bluebells have, for the most part, gone to seed; and amid the fresh grass has appeared a galaxy of buttercups.
A deep hole has appeared in the shrubbery bordering the drive, which I have to cross when I go to the vegetable garden. There is no sign of the fox; if I were smaller, I might, like Alice, be tempted to plunge into the hole. Then, who knows what?