Saturday, September 06, 2008
note, whistle, discarding
These lime seeds flutter down on to our hedge and garden all the time now. Having tried to describe their aerodynamic structure in words, I get some pleasure from drawing one, a little shrivelled though it is, in my notebook.
A steam train whistle comes to us on the wind. It originates with the single track line between Tunbridge Wells and Groombridge which was restored several years ago by a group of enthusiasts who run trains at weekends and on public holidays.
I meet a neighbour with a box full of old baby clothes. He is on his way to Oxfam. We talk about the pleasure of discarding things for there is no longer a use.