This violet was growing out of an old wall when I spotted it.
In the window of a hairdresser's, a woman, whose hair is being attended to, watches herself in the mirror. Her expression is composed of a wistful smile, a mixture of regret and compassion for the person she sees looking back at her.
Nest building proceeds. The crow, which I assume is the female is busy this morning under the trees in the Grove. She adds to the bundle of twigs in her beak, with the determination that I noted the other day, and which contrasted in so marked a manner to the idle collecting behaviour of the bird which I took to be the male. And today, where is the male? Not be seen at all.