The laurel twisting, shrugging off last night's dew. We went to the market in the clear morning. Thin clouds swept high above us.
Past the empty prison buildings. One structure's face of bluestone blocks was at some prior time pried off. The remaining stones made a ragged frame for the gloom that curdled in the building's further corners. A white van sat abandoned. The sun shone down on it through a hole in the roof.
The inner walls were painted in white lime down to the doorway-tops. Beneath, stripped black by acid flood, the bare stone hid shadows. On the region of the inner wall still covered in white lime there was a schism. Inside it a pair of red rumped parrots. They mate for life. I think they are the same pair Goose and I saw last year. They are very handsome birds and I love them.
At the market we bought sweet pink radishes, and a loaf of caraway bread, and also rainbow chard. We saw two complementary dogs; a svelte greyhound with black boots on its paws, and a Chestertonian white bulldog.
A bunch of linaria. Its flowers flash yellow, lilac, and white. White as in the porcelain-cat vase is white. Their petals are like pixiu. Their lolling, cloudlike tongues.