Mount Ephraim, anticlockwise. 12.30pm.

The workmen have parked up on the lawn. They are now sitting in their truck eating lunch and smiling at the newly cut bank. They've done a good morning's work.

Mount Ephraim, anticlockwise. 5.10pm.

A dog on a lead shaking its whole self from grey muzzle to white tail tip: Flapple-apple-jink. Lumpish heaps of damp vegetation slashed from the hillside have a riverbank stink.

St Helena, anticlockwise. 2.45pm.

It's as if an art teacher has come up behind you encouraged you to add red, yellow, brown, russet highlights to your picture. You're not sure if you want to.

Clockwise, Church Road and London Road: noon.

A sumac tree has been cast out of the garden. It still glows like the embers at the heart of a fire. The cold evergreen hedge has closed behind it.

Mount Ephraim, anticlockwise. 11.30am.

Two jays fly across the hillside. Their pink-brown plumage and mischievous chuckling make me think of streakers running around a sports field laughing at the police. Naked as jaybirds.

St Helena, anticlockwise. 2.30pm.

Bottle caps push themselves up through the dust like the frilled caps of mushrooms. I imagine the beer bottles turning green then brown as they ripen silently under the earth.