In the evening, a blackbird sits on the fence above a straggling rose. He barely blinks and doesn’t seem to mind as I take his photo. He just sits there every evening about this time as I trawl through the manuscript for spelling mistakes and inconsistencies. Then a little later, after he has gone and I am still trawling, a speckled version, perhaps a lady blackbird, is on the ground beneath the fence foraging for worms.
There is no great wisdom to be gathered from this observation , or If there is it has passed me by. I am struck by the ordinariness of the everyday of the birds going about their ordinary every day business.
Perhaps they will be there until the editing is finished.
Perhaps the editing will never end and the birds and I will be for ever quietly getting on.