Summer must be sliding in behind us, slowly turning up the dial.
Primroses over-bloom, droop, even the bluebells are heavy.
Elderflower buds besieged by black-fly.
The lawn cut one minute and replacing every daisy head, every pimpernel, every dandelion with great sleight of hand.
Bees are in on it, prepared.
I am running for the hosepipe, feeling hypnotised. Azalea pink, chive flower purple, the fine stripes on citrine gooseberries - such awe is struck, such spectacle, such skill.
Take an interval in the hammock, the silky hot hammock, too hot for a blanket this time - see how it is as though one could take a butterknife and slice through anything - until the breeze comes, draws across, makes a cooled crust.