It's a quiet weekend and I am cycling into the city to meet some friends for Dim Sum. The route has become familiar to me over the past few months, so that I ease into every turn automatically, flying through intersections that are Sunday-quiet. It is chilly but when the sun breaks through the clouds, my eyes crinkle with the bright light and welcome warmth.
As I come up to a small bridge over Regent's canal, I come across one of those vignettes that you sometimes happen across; so perfect, it could never be reproduced to the same effect; all the more magical for being unexpected. Three mallard ducks fly over the bridge in formation, wings flapping to keep their barrel-chested bodies airborne. The light catches the metallic green of their neat, round heads and the teal strip on their wings as they make their way to the other side of the canal. In a minute, they are gone.
I cycle on, a little slower, my heart lifted.