A late rose waves goodbye. Cold winds have wrinkled an emerging petal.The robins which used to keep me company while I worked in the garden, following my fork to see what it revealed as I turned the earth over, were absent this summer largely on account of the self-possessed white and orange cat that took possession of the vegetable beds. The cat seems to have been absent recently because today a robin joins me by the compost heap and follows me as I inspect the kale. It is hoping that I will do some digging but the soil is too heavy with the recent rain. I look at the robin and the robin looks at me. I shrug, a faint gesture only. If robins could shrug I am sure that this one would have respond in kind. Instead it tilts its head as it watches me from the wall. '...bye" I say.
"They said, don't get drunk," blares a passing woman into her mobile: "Who are they to tell me what I can do?"
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