Scent of warm fruit. The slim curve of a new moon in air so clear there are no jet trails. Fleshy pink stocks, fresh valerian and bitter brown fleabane along the verge. A cormorant on the edge of the old wooden jetties. Twigs, dried seaweed and polystyrene crumbs scrunch on the bike track where the tide has come over. I cycle home without lights and photograph the crescent before it disappears.