dove,future, painter

Ring dove, sol y sombra.

Paul, who is the gardener across the road, likes to philosophise. We talk about the moth which is destroying horse chestnuts all over the South of England and I dare say further afield. "They'll come back," he says; "they always do.  He is thinking of the chestnuts. Then he thinks further ahead. "Well, not always," he says. "Every thing's got to come to an end. "Even the Earth, " he says. " In a million years, it will all be over."

In a corner of The Grove someone has set up an easel. Palate in one hand, he is painting a picture of a house in Sutherland Road, next to the  park entrance. This afternoon, a few minutes earlier, I  am reading a  description of Bougival by the Seine in 19th Century Paris, where "shopkeepers and factory workers went to remind themselves of the sun and the riverbanks bristled with painters' easels. For just a moment the two scenes connect.