14.30

Motorbikes on the Consuma road, loving their curves. The kiwi leaves gallomping huskily in the fitful breeze. No birds, no insects. Post prandial Sunday. Clouds building up from the north east. The waft of Ellen’s petticoats, her perturbations finding us out and even suggesting a hint of rain tomorrow.

Sliced apples drying in the sun. Nuts and beans toughening themselves for winter. The tomatoes demanding picking for more passata.

The hot silence. Wind catching in distant trees, like a train heard far away. Walnut leaves clattering. A ringing in my ears. Four bikers, like dark ducks on a wire, pull across an open bend and then growl on hidden behind trees. There’s a hint of something in this weather, an interregnum, a brief truce. The nights lengthen and autumn rains must surely come.