The deep-water sound of someone blowing from a height at 4.30 in the morning before the first blackbird has it in him to wake up and start singing and no car hums the tune of rubber on tarmac and the night has its own sound a no-sound a ,whisteling" sound and I join in the silence, eyes wide open and mouth closed shut and I breathe in and I breathe out and it doesn’t do much good and I turn over on my side and wonder if I should read by reading light or just get up and join the night goodbye so I say hi to my pen and paper and I want to write a story, any story, about the world and what goes on in it, within it and all I end up writing, again, is my own.