This morning outside the window, not a shower. Rather the rain is falling in a steady, dense, continuous downpour.
Because I have been unable to get through to the vegetable garden for four days I am confronted by what seems a prodigious growth. Lettuces have bulked up and the oriental mustards are asking to be sheered. The weeds are looking pleased with themselves, and require immediate hoeing.
After this morning's heavy rain there is a strange pattern of twigs on the footpath up which I climb. Is it the work of a child? Then I realize that the heavy rain of this morning, overflowing from the paths in the Grove, has streamed down the pavement leaving a parabola of detritus.