In the course of this endless heatwave summer, one particular measure of my recovery: how easily could I manage the walk from the car, parked at the top end of the Embankment, down to & across the Butterfly Bridge, and from there to the café at the water’s edge?

The breeze whispers through the reeds. We talk about that thing we always talk about these days.

Once, there was a cormorant at the top of its own tree, the tree on its own island. Beyond where, until recently, the rowboats were all tied up. We swirl with a straw and clink the cubes.


the splash as a tern drops into the lake