Windows open in my room.
Sunlight.
Birdsong.
First of June.
Should feel like summer - there is even the sound of a light aircraft out there somewhere (and what could sound more like summer than a light aircraft when heard in the tangle of a summery field?) - but there is something that reminds me of autumn. Not deep autumn, but those first days of autumn - those first few moments. There is something fluid about the sun, something wet, like it has been raining (which surprisingly it hasn't been). Out of my window, at the passage between the Mews and the coffee shop, the shadows there are deeper than in summer, richer and somehow more alive.
That birdsong sounds like summer though, and a sudden thought occurs to me - where are all the seagulls this year? I see them about but they seem to be strangely silent. I imagine them planning something - some seagull crime - in some dark and hidden bird-nook of Brighton.
