nunoncastors

Through the open window of a public toilet I hear birdsong for the first time this year and, despite the unsanitary surroundings, find myself glad to be alive.

It’s strange, the times and places where you find solace are never those that you’d expect. You’d assume that it could be found in the understanding of a friend, not in watching the world waken after winter. Assumptions count for little. Sunlight, green leaves, blue skies and the twittering of birds make for my unusual sanctuary.

And for a moment, while the world stirs, nothing can touch me, no solemn thoughts perturb. Then the singing stops, the wind blows, and the sun returns to cover. I’m in a public toilet, where Steve woz once, and it all seems so far away.