shadow-walker, weighing, crunch

 Looking down from our balcony there is plenty of substance and shadows too.

In the bank the teller, having counted the notes I hand him, checks the accuracy of  his count, by weighing the paper money, in what must be a highly sensitive machine. When I comment on this he says that he cannot depend on its accuracy.  There will be problems, he says, if one of the notes is torn and the tear joined with selotape, or even if the notes are damp. Bank notes, too, must watch their weight.

In The Grove, I kick my way through the long, dry leaves  that have fallen from the big oak at the corner by Belvue. They talk back to me in a noisy whisper, like a stage whisper.