The crow is cawing again, perhaps it does this every morning. The small birs song and twitterings are from fafrther awa now. perhaps they are all in the park. The only sound is from what must be the compactors of the rubbish collection people crushing the waste from another street. This is followed by the steady beep of the reversing vehicle.
It is a foggy morning, the grey trees up on the flanks of the valley are barely visible, in fact they are only visible because their presence is known. Everything outside is damp and sounds are muffled.
The breakfast made and eaten, it is turning into the most enjoyable meal of the day, alone in the room with the table lamp and the sound of the birds. The bed is still unmade, it will have to be dealt with shortly.
Think about the strange telephone call yesterday. It was just a steady stream of blather, that photographer friend, all about himself, his daughters, and his house and his sleeping habits. Remember listening to the conversation, and thinking that it is not that much different from other accounts, it is just that the trivia so urgently explained suddenly come to an end mid sentence because the man has to go because he has had a telephone call on another machinte and it is probably his daughter he will ring back and then he hangs up.
Not having spoken for guite some time now press the red button on the phone and turn it off. Turn it off just in case he does ring back and continue his monologue.
Shortly later there is a buzz from the machine, and a message on the screen.
The crow caws again, four times, as it did yesterday. Then, a minute later, it does it again. After which there is the sound of a pigeon cooing in the distance.
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