At the end of a row of rental bikes outside Waterloo station some pigeons were greedily attacking a discarded packet of cookies. There were two snack types; white and dark chocolate. I stood watching the scene, smoking a cigarette and wondering how this tasty product had ended up as elevenses for this feral horde. I had dozed on the train up from Wiltshire. Dozed between frequent announcements: the blaring, barely intelligible waffle through the train guard’s intercom and another, more pernicious type, that is now just a part of life in this country. This other, as you may know, is delivered in a clipped yet polite tone and outlines the potential consequences of a number of infractions that this train line’s passengers have yet to commit. Yes, warnings and threats about improper behaviour towards the train line’s employees, incorrect ticket purchases (penalty fare £100) and of course, the unidentified baggage which we have all had to assume for the past twenty five years contains…

On the cusp of evening the ants explore the surface of the table. Some of them sprout wings, of a sudden, taking off unsteadily to mingle with the midges. I don’t know what the other ants are looking for. Not food. I’m sure of that. I haven’t dined at this table for weeks. Unseen forces disturb the leaves of the neighbouring oak. Bees continue their persistent labour among fading hawthorn blossoms. The oak is a giant benefactor. I imagine the jackdaws will return to nest soon. Perhaps they are snuggled up inside her already. I wonder too what other creatures have made their homes within these ancient limbs. The gentlest of Southerlies cools the skin. It’s welcome. Earlier I lost my patience in the heat; with a wasp, an enamel bowl and my soul. I was trying too hard to achieve stuff. Then I realised my urgent error and slowed down. We all rotate with the clock around the sun. Its heat is benign now but its rays throw golden shafts through the branches. A blowsy wasp interroga…