heat, birds, birds, birds

by Rachel Kendall

Sleeping with the window open is a new phenomena for me. I wouldn’t normally dare to even let a toe slip out from beneath the duvet, let alone practically invite a masked intruder into my bedroom in the dead of night (maybe that’s where I’ve been going wrong?). But this heat (at the time of writing, the glass is half-full and most of that is rain water, but at the time of thinking up this post, the heat was filling the glass, the room, the house…) has me atop the covers, window open, naked as the day I was born and too zonked to care.

The birds, though. The dawn bloody chorus. How loud are they? Sparrows they mostly are with their shrill, impetuous chirping like the yapping of small dogs. It’s annoying like cutlery scraping on crockery, or glass beads rubbed together in the palms of sweaty hands.

Still, at least I have a dawn chorus to wake up to, a window to keep open, bed covers to lie on top of. Thinking right now of Grenfell Tower and how those who didn’t lose their lives or their loved ones lost their homes, their possessions (only things, but with emotional value), their sanctity and the pleasure in sleeping in one’s own sacred space.