Between brief sallies, a damselfly hides on sunlit leaves, its eyes just protruding over the edge but its position given away by its shadow.
The dog and her entourage of flies. In the deep shade beside the wall, one clump of myrtle leaves is pure white, like a school of cave fish.
A huge contrail X moves slowly toward the south. The dog sleeps in a patch of sun, deaf to a magpie scolding from the wall.
A cat watches me from the depths of the mock orange tree. The birds are elsewhere, and silent, having begun singing around 4:00 a.m.
Spider mites zoom around the table, cartoonish as creatures in an old-fashioned video game. A helicopter crosses the sky’s one patch of blue.
The feral cat places its feet just so, peering down at the base of the wall where seven sunflowers have just been liberated from their pots.
The fallen mock orange petals attract flies, as if they were the corpses of amorphous cherubs. A blue tit fledgling’s squeaky demands.