Lime trees are in flower again; the pale yellow flowers hang below the single wing-like bracts, which will carry the seeds, already half formed formed, on winds, which are yet to blow.
I hang discarded cds and dvds on strings above the romanesco plants, with the intention of scaring off the pigeons, which have already devoured the remainder of the seedlings in the seed bed. But I wonder whether it will be in vain. Birds are more intelligent than we sometimes believe them to be. How long will it be before the pigeons work out that shining discs will not hurt them, rather that they signify a source of sweet green leaves?
As I walk up slopes of the common, the sound of traffic whizzing up and down the London Road, quickly becomes no more than a muffled drone, as though someone has thrown a blanket over it.