Summer is here at last. The long days, women in flowery skirts, pretty sandals, people sitting outside at cafés, men in T-shirts, all announce that the season has changed.
The trees in our back garden, which were so bare until a couple of weeks ago, are now suddenly all leafy and green.
The bluebells are gone but the daisies are out. The great discovery for me this year are the flowering hawthorn trees. Their tiny flowers look to me like minuscule roses.
And then there are the tall chestnut trees, made more beautiful by their white and pink flowering spikes, reminding me endlessly of the summers spent in Paris.
I know that while I am enjoying the sweet expressions of Nature here in London there are others, somewhere far away, closer to where I come from, who are witnessing her cruelty.