The branches on a malformed beech will snap off, any second. Just for a moment, I see no one. On the path, behind some bushes, I now hear girls chatting and the rattle of a push‐chair. It's October, first day of GMT. The sun gets a moment low in the sky, cuts into the side of my eyes, eyes that are too sensitive. I've only got one pair of eyes. I don't argue. Here comes the rain.