18 OCTOBER 2008, Page 41

A M iDGiE I pick a midgie out of my red wine. The garden goes greener in the lilac time.

This will go down on the permanent record.

A night is nothing if not its own reward.

The foxgloves corked with bees. The snail outlining a life of ease.

The black things wait. Or may never show.

That’s innocent. I know, I know.

John McAuliffe