There's a bird outside my door, at 6.30am in the morning, with a lot to say. There's another one, now I tune in, with an equally large amount to say back. Bird Two sounds like he/she is over by the bench, a distance away through the open window in front of me. I forget whether it's the hes or the shes who make all the racket in the bird world; I suspect it's the hes. I wonder what a guide to humans would say if it focused on the same things as a bird guide. I doubt this dressing gown would qualify as plumage.
Sheep always seem to be saying either "Where are you?" or "I'm over here", in the sense that they exchange noises - answer each other - rather than just making noises, so they're listening, speaking from "I", participating in their social network. I'm guessing they don't feel the lack of ... let's see ... opposable thumbs, mortgages, caffeine in the morning, working hours, any more than I feel the lack of wings. It must be wonderful - okay, normal - to live in a world containing grass, weather, companions and the frequent exchange of reassurance - are you there? Yes, I'm here. And unlike humans, they don't know they're going to die.
There was going to be a third paragraph today, but that line has so much of what Frank Kermode and now Julian Barnes would call 'the sense of an ending', that I think I'd better stop. Sunrise was a horizontal strip of colour in an otherwise clouded sky - but it did add a little purple to the grey of the clouds. The day thick with mist now, and stillness.
Sheep always seem to be saying either "Where are you?" or "I'm over here", in the sense that they exchange noises - answer each other - rather than just making noises, so they're listening, speaking from "I", participating in their social network. I'm guessing they don't feel the lack of ... let's see ... opposable thumbs, mortgages, caffeine in the morning, working hours, any more than I feel the lack of wings. It must be wonderful - okay, normal - to live in a world containing grass, weather, companions and the frequent exchange of reassurance - are you there? Yes, I'm here. And unlike humans, they don't know they're going to die.
There was going to be a third paragraph today, but that line has so much of what Frank Kermode and now Julian Barnes would call 'the sense of an ending', that I think I'd better stop. Sunrise was a horizontal strip of colour in an otherwise clouded sky - but it did add a little purple to the grey of the clouds. The day thick with mist now, and stillness.