Last night I fall asleep to the sound of wind in the trees and rain beating against the window. In the morning, while it still seems dark, I wake to the sound of a blackbird.
A flowering cherry, still little more than a sapling, mingles its white flowers with the shiny leaves of a laurel. It is an uneasy liason, like a young and pretty girl on the arm of a sleek businessman.
"Mummy, you've got your slippers on," says a little girl to her mother who is seated on the bench opposite the entrance to the Grove. "Mummy, ypu've got your slippers on." And so she has. " Yes I know, darling," she says, " I just had to run out of the door with you didn't I."