Stitched up and head strapped into a plastic cone, Dog walks uncomfortably but with much determination. Even if the cone wouldn't get wedged in brambles, she is kept on a lead. I do permit drinking from a clear puddle. She likes rainwater. The sun shines. We find four almost ripe hedge strawberries. The hedge is a normal place to find them: fruiting in November, peculiar. The flavour is a foreground of water and earth, a background of summer berry.
Something almost always turns up, when you need it.
On the squashed up busy road to work there are too many cars but mostly lights are green on approach. Idle thoughts stir as we swing the roundabout: the ability to control the lights to make them green always has no real skill to it. The ability to admire is the one that flows your journey so that red lights coincide with wanting a rest, and green lights with the desire to move.