My mother has some lovely mature trees on her property. This wild cherry is one of the loveliest. As I was taking its picture I noticed a tiny sickle shape drifting towards a cloud. That can't be the moon, I thought; it's the wrong way up and it's the wrong time of day. It was a hang-glider. It must have come off the North Downs two or three miles away and then ridden the thermals until it was all but out of sight.