Parrot tulip petal.
Going through the stack 11 notebooks which I have filled over the last 9 or 10 years ( I wish I could be more precise, but their object has not been to serve as a diary or any other record except that of ephemeral images and thoughts as they occur), I see that when the series began my chief preoccupation was drawing flowers, trees and animals, or people sitting at pub table or lying on beaches, walking in towns or lounging in cities. In the space of one book I see that the focus begins to change and drawings give way to words, until now the pages are packed with them and there are scarcely any drawings. I realise that this change coincides with the evolution of the blog I am now writing. But an odd sense of detachment removes me from a sense of responsibility for the blog or for that the matter for the notebooks. Both seem products of hazard like the weather. They seem simply to have occurred, which may explain why there is little that I can decipher in the notes and less that I can understand.
Having watched the rain falling on the later stages of the pageant on The Thames, I step into the garden where a thinner rain is falling and listen to drops splashing on leaves. As most people are in front of televisions, the town is quieter than usual. Birds meanwhile seem to sing louder in the rain.