Approach to Bogard, afternoon

Already the poplars have shed some leaves, which lie on the ground like green and yellow maps, or curl up into brown brandy snaps, and have that smell of leather.

Up the road, afternoon.

Unripe walnuts hang like small green eggs from Marcelle's tree and the one at Le Boissy.

A few blackberries are just ripening. I eat one, but it tastes quite sour.

Up the road, afternoon.

At the old man's house at Le Boissy, the hydrangeas are the blue of some liquorice allsorts, washed out like curtains in the sun, with some odd, welcome plum-coloured ones.