On hearing the early morning chorus…
‘A giant, rickety machine; chattering, whirring and clanking. Then voices… trying to form words perhaps. Urgent and insistent, set against the jalopy of sound. Sound unseen, but a knowledge of life…abundant life, perched behind green fans. All around and insistent.
A plane droans overhead, heavy and lifeless.
One voice sounds as if Poets Corner is high up in the trees – it’s rhythm is ‘statement like’. “This is how it should be!” “This is how it’s always been!” “This is how it will be in the future!”
A polite chitter seems to agree.’