Beyond the pail ...

Groping along seeking shade from the pitiless sun — (Yes! A week after dreadful cold and dank weather, we now have Hades: The World Tour for our daily sufferings!) — I saw one of the recently planted street trees wilting. Who could blame it?

Wilted. It should look more like this below —

— a little more sprite and less limp.

Action was called for! I made up my mind to do the necessary and cart water to where it was needed. On the way I could marvel in the transformation wrought by a week of sunshine. The old place (Sandyford) looks positively Mediterranean, though somnambulent in the heat of a Sunday afternoon.

Firstly, the pail was filled and then carried to the thirsting sapling to revive it.

The watering tube is thoughtful. How many are ever used?

Streets emptied by sunlight. Later I guarantee the scent of flowers will give way to more pungent ones from barbecues.

A summering Herring Gull wafts past the few streaks that pass for clouds this week.

A clematis overpowers the heat with a gorgeous display, alas! too brief.

Nor bird would sing, nor lamb would bleat,
   Nor any cloud would cross the vault,
But day increased from heat to heat,
   On stony drought and steaming salt;

— from Mariana in the South by Tennyson