Silhouettes of Birdsong
How many plates of baked beans does it take to recover from a night on the tiles? They're probably scouring my insides, right now, stinking my gut up with rancid tomato flavouring.
I'm sat staring out of a nearly open window, looking at a pink Good Friday sunset, while birds twitter grumpily at little or no bread thrown out into the garden, and I have to squint to see whether the buds on the tallest tree are leaves uncurling, or blossom. It's the first Easter in five years that I haven't been looking out of a window in East London watching the white hawthorn blossoms emerge as the pink cherry tree blossoms begin to fall and create pink candy floss drifts in the street outside.
I finished the book I'm reading. Time for another volume to open.