The Difficulty with Light, and the Loveliness of Lanes.

The eye adjusts to bright light.

The eye adjusts to darkness.

When the light vacillates, you stumble.

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And on a more prosaic note, the lanes are clothed in high summer finery at the moment. The willow herb is heavy with pink, the elder awash with white, and the meadowsweet is sweet as can be. I’ve got meadowsweet growing on the embankment that runs down the side of my garden. It obstructs the path, but there’s no way I’m cutting back, not with a scent like that.