In an unkempt garden, are three perfect dandelion clocks. Their brown seed cores, show faintly through the silver balls formed of closely packed, translucent wings waiting for release. They shine like pale moons.
A panting jogger slows to a halt and walks on panting heavily. I am glad that I do not jog.
Through our hedge, while sitting in our garden, you can see people passing, better than they can see you. Invariably, though detail is hidden, you can recognise people you know, as they pass, by their gait, their pace, their posture and the way they dress. Sometimes we call out to them. Sometimes not.