Announced and forgotten. "What images return
O my daughter."
There is a man who wanders round Tunbridge Wells singing loudly, a tuneless incantation. He is in full throat this morning in the middle of the farmers' market. He is wearing a red fez and carries an orange, plastic bag. People smile and look away. He sings the same words over and over again. "It's the end of the world tomorrow." He draws out the syllables and repeats "tomorrow." Again: "It's the end of the world, tomorrow....To blow us all away."
In a greenhouse, by no apparent design, is a single dandelion clock on top of a long stem. Through the transparent, silvery sphere, you can see the brown core where the seeds reside beneath their tufted wings. No breath of air disturbs this perfect structure.