Autumn

I was walking past the church to the tube and heard a familiar sound.  A chattering; conversational, wordless exclamations in the air above me.  I looked up to see, on the lamposts, starlings, gathered tightly together.  The Autumn Migrations, I thought, remembering the lines of Canada geese that queued up in the sky a few weeks ago.

It seems early, all this, but I can’t say I’m sorry.  That grey, low sky and the bright leaves like coins…I love them.  They suit my furtiveness.  I like the sensation that we’re all creeping around in the gap between sky and earth, like woodlice under a brick; concealed, industrious, private.  I like the feeling that thoughts can breed.

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