Clover appears on the short-cut grass outside the town hall like a table cloth. Soon the bees came to enjoy it, and so do I with my camera.
The other day in the Grove I see some boys swinging an oak sapling, which had come loose from it stakes, to and fro. I urge them to desist, which they reluctantly do. For some days since, the un-staked tree, leaning over to one side, has worried me, but today I see that two stout new stakes have been provided and the sapling is standing up straight again.
A Parker ball pen of which I am fond because I like the feel of it and I have got used to its streamlined look, has gone missing. Did I drop it or leave it on a table in a bar? Then, in the pouch-like pocket in front of the blue and white striped apron which I use when cooking, I feel the familiar shape of the pen, and there it is. The sun comes out and shines on an old friend whose company I depend upon.