This morning and on recent mornings I am woken at around 6.30 by a great tit outside our window. It has a two-note ditty, which I confirm this afternoon with the help of some bird recordings on CD introduced by Geoff Sample. As I play the CD, the house is full of bird song for a few minutes.
What is this rolling over the crest of the road in Little Mount Sion? A blue plastic ball about the size of a tennis ball. It seems to have no owner but rolls along, up on the pavement and back on to the tarmac as though it has a life of its own but little or no purpose.
There is no one about in the Grove. The rain is slanting down and the wind is roaring in the branches of the trees. In different corners Mr and Mrs Crow, unpeturbed, are pecking interesting things out of the soft earth. Raindrops rest for a moment and slide off the feathers of their folded wings.
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