8:58 am

first fresh steps of the day, and inhaling the mornings fragrancy and temperature, momentarily noticing a bumble bee on the ground, yellow and black fur against the grey and dryness of the pavement ...my steps breeze me past within a familiar current that will soon land me at the station...but then. ten steps later, swerving to avoid stepping on another bumble bee that is also very still, not trampled but not moving.

1:48 pm

distraction in LIncolns Inn Square, a beautiful brown and gold wing, polished in the sunshine, is delicately and slowly extended and then gently comes to rest, savouring the warmth from the log and midsummers rays...but just one wing, as if this charmingly delightful blackbird gingerly relaxing and yet alert to the hestiation of my steps, intends to stretch out the other wing to the sun just a little later.

1:53 pm

the errand for milk has guided my steps out of the square and along the street where suddenly my attention receives a small but particular shock ...an unexpected greeting with death awakens its powerful distortion of the parallel moment. I feel my eyes widen in unnerving fascination - two pigeons lay horribly askew, dead, but with feathers and flesh still freshly dissipating life force. My gaze might easlily have misregistered their outlines for a moment of alight had not the striking frozen frame they presented jarred perception - they are angular with their poignant stillness, and yet slumped too, but their round eyes remain fully open as if yet to look with and meet with my eyes.