When I first came here I saw a hawk kill a starling then crouch over it on the pavement in Grove Road. I thought I was hallucinating. After that, the old cat kept the birds away. Now he’s gone, life is back in the garden. Two wood pigeons have constructed something deep inside the foliage of the bay tree and are raising a brood there. They make an enormous fuss about getting in and out, struggling and flapping as if to demonstrate to someone that they weren’t designed for this. They are performing how hard the pigeon life is; how hard it is to be a parent; how conscientiously Barnes and committed they are being about it all. The forget-me-nots, meanwhile, are still in flower. Poppies and columbine thrive. Two or three rose buds have cracked to display promising glimpses of deep red. Fiona upstairs has mowed the lawn.