bud, wall, starlings

A poppy bud bowed under the weight of its promise.

There is a window, which I pass regularly, next to the pavement, through which I usually sneak a look. Today I see, instead of a table and a fridge with stickers on its flank, a plain, white-painted outside wall as though the room behind the window has disappeared. Because of the light at this time of day, the window has become a mirror and what I am seeing is the house opposite. It has the effect of a surreal painting and makes you stand still and think for a minute about the permanence of things.

Sunk into the the classical frontage of the house opposite is a pillar with a carved capital. At this time of year, as I almost certainly noted here last year, starlings nest within the capital. When the parent birds are away looking for food, the young make a noise like a telephone under a pile of linen, insistant, monotonous, urgent.