Four railway workers in orange jackets walk briskly past the station. I think to myself: they need someone to write a poem about them or put them in a picture?
Pigeons wheel and ride the wind above Mount Sion.
Last year and probably the year before I made a note about the pink camellia in flower in Grove Avenue. Though it looks a little out place against the stucco houses and subfusc paving, it has found a perfect new home here where it can flourish, far from its origins in the foothills of the Himalayas or a mysterious Chinese valley.