clock, birdsong, age

Today's dandelion clock. It must be a sign of no longer being a child that I don't want to blow the seed off the stalk while counting the hours.

In the street I pass an old lady wearing an elegant white jacket and white trousers. She is one of those woman who retain their good looks even when frail and unsteady on their feet. She is supported on one side by a walking stick, and on the other, by the arm of a younger woman, who because of a similarity in their features, I suppose to be her daughter. "You can hear the birds, " says the younger woman, "It's lovely isn't it." "Yes", says the old lady, "I hear them in the morning when I wake up".

I walk towards the corner of Frant Road, where between the traffic lights and the zebra crossing, railings have been erected to stop impetuous pedestrians from running into danger. As I approach, one of those strange fantasies that assail me from time, makes me want to run towards the railings, vault them and cross the road dodging the traffic and even vaulting over the bonnets of cars. It looks so easy in the movies.