Selling art in the Pantiles.
They come this morning to cut down the bay tree in front of the study window. It is with mixed feeling that I see it go. There is now daylight in two rooms, which had been in perpetual gloom. The solid wall of bay leaves that I used to see when I looked up from my desk is replaced by a view of sky and hedge and of the corner of what is reputed to be the oldest house in Tunbridge Wells. But I can't help remembering, with a pang, the sickly plant in pot that I brought with me when we moved here. It hadn't occurred to me then that it would grow so tall and wide, or I would certainly have planted it elsewhere.
I see through an open window, a room with a connecting door open, and through the door another window, and through that window, an unexpected view, almost an imaginary view of another world.