In a half coconut hanging from a tree branch, someone has provided pumpkin seeds for visiting birds.
From the window, I watch, in the distance, a woman walking a dog. The dog, on its leash, walks slowly and lags behind. I guess that the dog is old and wishing it were at home on a rug in a warm corner. If the dog had been younger it would have been ahead pulling in the direction of the park.
Look up. We are miles from the sea, but sea gulls are attracted by the rubbish tip on the outskirts of the town. Now, two or three take time off from foraging, and glide overhead in lazy circles. You know they are gulls because the sun catches the white of their wings. High above the gulls, from different angles and at different heights, two planes, the sun touching them with silver, fly in a westerly direction on their way to Gatwick.