Christ almighty!
That bird singing when it’s so cold and dark out there….even the kitchen floor seems wet with night rain and chilly with the window left open.
How the hell am I going to describe that moment, the sound of it, the feeling, as I grope for the kettle.
I can’t.
The song, the moment, the very happening of it was its own closed description.
And you don’t need an arsehole like me telling you to listen to birds.
Constant Voice 