From my dormer window, looking out onto Quilchena Park. An overcast day, late-September. Greys and greens and yellowing trees.
At my desk, elbows on its blotter. A plastic model of a Handley Page beside me, waiting for its paint to dry.
A stain of starlings gathered on the east-west slope. About to lift off, I am hoping, so I can say it, this word told to me the week before when I told my teacher. Lift off so I can say it! The word's letters -- M-U-R-M-U-R-A-T-I-O-N -- joining in, finding their way among them.
