A group of students who, when they get up, leave rubbish on the ground for someone else to pick up after them, I watch their careless swerve into the distance, scattering laughter, noise. The hottest day it's been all year and still not April yet and, like an apogee, a crowd of girls are singing something sweet and out of tune beneath the blossoming trees. Hard to imagine summer when it's gone like some Bavaria, lost between the wars, now it's back, this demogogic sun, these bright dressed children marching over flowers, the whole world moving to a single beat, a shout, and, on the edge, the odd few still left out.