Where they have left a section of the Grove unmowed, the fronds of a patch of meadow grass stand out like a crowd of feathers.
When I take a few minutes off from watching the Wimbledon men's final, the road outside is almost deserted. Only a pair of pigeons walk across the road and peck at imaginary insects on the pavement.
A woman walks down Mount Pleasant, earphones over her head, and a distant expression in her eyes as though she is in touch with another universe.
Music can, and often does, send me to another universe. I can identify with that woman in Mount Pleasant, even though I seldom walk around with headphones on these days.
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