From an alley off Mt Sion, shoots a young man; he tries to squeeze between parked cars, and almost gets run over. A car coming up the hill stops to let him cross, and he hares down the hill towards Chapel Place. He is closely followed by another young man, hatless, but wearing a yellow jacket with "Police" written on the back. "Which way?" Someone points down the hill. And off goes the second youn man in hot pursuit. A little bit of drama to lighten a dull afternoon.
A few days ago, the dustmen left a big, red apple, apparently in good condition, close to the twitten where the wheely bins live. I wondered if a dog or fox would fancy it. But something smaller seems to have been feasting on it. Because there are signs that tiny teeth have been nibbling it, gougeing out and hollowing the fruit, leaving, in places, only a shell formed by the skin. It it were not mid-winter I would think that the maurader was a slug or snail.
In the Grove, after a dull morning, the sun, low in the clear, afternoon sky, sends forth its beams almost horizontally, and the trunks of trees cast long shadows over the grass
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