before I could reach for my camera Tweet

A large, colourful bird like a hen of long tail was strolling calmly in the field, metres away in the sunset. And then they were four, picking at the grass randomly. Four pheasants.

A suspect somersault in the tall grass. A second one behind it, like a delayed tridimensional shadow. Two rabbits playing away. Then four, and then six. Happy and fluffy.

A black woman with the body of an athlete and the simplest, yet most sophisticate business clothes: high heeled sandals, slightly golden, cappuccino skirt, flared, a bit shiny, crisp shirt, toothpaste white, tucked in to expose a perfect abdomen, its long sleeves a wee bit flared. Floating on the street with her perfect make up, perfect hairdo, perfect suitcase, and a tiny dark gold carrier bag from Macy's. An American in London.

A minute away, a blond woman that hardly had time to brush her hair, wearing long, black linen trousers, a black top, and black flip-flops. Carrying a large black handbag that can hide the office high heels and discarded beer glasses, stomping along the sidewalk. An English in London.

A tiny, dynamic Latin woman walking with a tall, quiet Asian woman in search of a drink in Soho. A perfect body in the shortest dress. A perfect body in the longest dress. A Portorican of tight trousers and shiny hair, long to his bottom. A casually dressed surfer of exquisite accessories. A tall old man walking his bike in shorts alone, shorts that look like boxers. An executive in his forties and a suit, followed by a boy in his kakis and his teens. The world keeps turning.