I am standing on the corner of Mount Sion and Little Mount Sion focusing on the shadow of the house opposite and its chimney pot, and coincidentally on a lamp post and and its shadow. A neighbour emerges from a doorway and as we greet one another says: "Photographing a lamp post!" in a tone of voice which might be reserved for a well-intentioned but rather foolish child.
Patterns of leaves from the lime tree are pressed flat on the wet tarmac this morning, as though they are not real, but printed there. Leaves from the same tree are also scattered loosely and lie lightly on the hedge and grass as if it is they, which are real and have inspired the glossy, golden, prints on the black road.
In The Grove this afternoon, there are two crows, as usual at this time of year. And as usual they strut up and down pecking at the ground, but they are also staking out their territory. On the other side of a path, they spot a thin, curious cat. At once they begin cawing noisily and flap over to alight within a few feet of the cat. The cat crouches adopting a half-defensive, half-hunting posture. The crows advance and then retreat. The cat advances and then retreats. Both parties in the end grow bored with the stand-off and depart by their different means of locomotion. Peace with honour?