 "book shelf, reading, books")
There’s a racket outside; I emerge, much like the Mole, from a cloud of foamy detergent and assorted dusters, to investigate. Sparrows, which have reappeared in the city’s suddenly blue skies after an indefinite sabbatical, chirrup or cheep or make whatever rhythmic sound they do, on the branches of a mulberry tree. There are other noisemakers: an invisible koel bewails the terrible acoustics that surround her with her own high-pitched transmission. Crows caw, predictably, and bees buzz over giant dahlias.
Spring has arrived, or has been around for a while, its crazed rituals performed daily. Insolent season, uncaring of the Covid
