A staccato wood rapping wood drifts in from the distance. An unsoled foot on the footpath slabs slap percussively. There is the insistent stab of a single high pitched note from a bird outside, accompanied by more complex melodies from blackbirds, each claiming property they sing to make their own. The sea offers an ever-present noise as a backdrop. I can hear the rumble of the water heating in the kettle.

This entry was posted in Small Stones, Small Stones Jan 2013. Bookmark the permalink.

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