Mount Ephraim, anticlockwise. 3pm.

On the Lower Cricket Ground: the wind sneaks up behind a picnicking couple. It ruffles their hair, snatches an empty bag and runs off. They give chase, shouting with laughter.

Mount Ephraim, anticlockwise. 5.45pm.

This is a tiny bird. She is so light she can land on one of the ragged grassheads (stripped of seeds and bleached by the sun) without it bending.

Rock Cottage, clockwise. 8.15pm.

Where last night the rain flowed down the edges of the paths, ripe grass seeds lie waiting for the wind. Each one is a love letter addressed to next summer.