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.