flight, flucht

 Silence in the morning is cool air in the window, the occasional sound of a bird, a neighbour belching out of the open window because he believes that nobody is awake to listen. There is the sound of occasional cars, not yet the continuous racket that they will produce as the day drags on.

The silence is made up of sounds. Underlying it all the continuous hiss of the tinnitus in the right ear. The doctor says that this is what it is, tinnitus. An affliction that cannot really be treated at all.

Now there is the clatter of crockery as one of the neighbours prepares breakfast, ready to start the day. It is a pleasant sound, it is the start of the day there for them. Now there is the sound of voices.

The church bells ring twice, it is half past six now, and it is time to stop writing and to wonder if flight from this situation is sensibly possible.