Monday Downy still with willow fuzz balls flattening into the asphalt, red leaves responding to something – pretty but could it be weedkiller? Gothic architecture of trees and skin rippling over muscle on the Big Scycamore, Fleischmann gateposts, a patch of blue, shadows of trees, pine fingers, lowlight in the branches, gorse in its wizened glory still bristling while holding on to seed pods, a little roesette fine on the grassy knoll foe X17 and Chippy, vetch climbing willow declining, sycamore bushy tails and tiny copters, Rowan abundance, plantain bottle brush, elegant foxglove waving, glowing bench in eerie light, magpie nook, water is always arriving into the Glen, thos twin trunks at the Gothic quarter, path to the oak, the witches waving, young oak, sundown due NW at 21.25 summertime and the view due wast looking towards the satelite tower in Knocknheaney, looking East there is still creamy light in the sky veritical answers to burnings, daisies closing their heads pinkly sugary as the montelimar hatch, belly over the mill race still water before the descent and out by the Alder homeward bound through the tree tunnels and clouds of biting flying creatures, the S wall, entry point of the drain and home of the bats the twin trees by the snake, a song sung by hogweed umbels to the willows the old oak stump biding its time and seemingly topped by an invisible wizard. My exit s closed and so I had to the zigzag, this person makes a strange connection with the new red bench. Up the path homeish, farewell zigzag luscious heliotropes.
It’s half past ten by the time I get home.
In the morning I see the sunrise from home, it is due NNE