I don't want to rehash too much about my annual springtime arousals, but today was a good day. I saw ducklings and cygnets, both early enough in the season that the stragglers of the flock hadn't been devoured by predators yet. The sun shone steadfast most of the morning. At lunch I decided I'd earned a break and I went for a stroll through the sunbeams along North Terrace.

With this picture painted you can imagine my surprise when I passed through a pocket of trees and one in front of me dropped a fat, brown leaf which drifted slowly to the footpath.
"Um, tree, do you know what month it is?" I muttered only half in jest.

A moment later, a deep voice from behind asked me, "Do you speak to the trees often?"
"No!" I thought instantly, but then recalled the last journal entry I'd posted.
"I guess I do, sometimes," I said, turning about. "It's not something I want to be known for, though"
Behind me there was no one listening. Just another tree, a bigger one, watching me with bemusement.