frightens them, light or noise? Better sit still. > All instinct like the bird in drouth got water out of the end of a jar by throwing in pebbles. Like a little man in a cloak he is with tiny hands. Weeny bones. Almost see them shimmering, kind of a bluey
Colours depend on the light you see. Stare the sun for example like the eagle then look at a shoe see a blotch blob yellowish. Wants to stamp his trademark on everything. Instance, that cat this morning on the staircase. Colour of brown turf. Say you never see them with three colours. Not true. That half tabbywhite tortoiseshell in the City Arms with the letter em on her forehead. Body fifty different colours. Howth a while ago amethyst. Glass flashing.
That’s how that wise man what’s his name with the burning glass.
- Then the heather goes on fire.
- It can’t be tourists’ matches.
- What?
- Perhaps the sticks dry rub together in the wind and light.
- Or broken bottles in the furze act as a burning glass in the sun.
Archimedes. I have it! My memory’s not so bad.
Ba. Who knows what they’re always flying for. Insects? That bee last week got into the room playing with his shadow on the ceiling. Might be the one bit me, come back to see. Birds too never find out what they say. Like our small talk. And says she and says he. Nerve they have to fly over the ocean and back. Lot must be killed in storms, telegraph wires. Dreadful life sailors have too. Big brutes of oceangoing steamers floundering along in the dark, lowing out like seacows. Faugh a ballagh. Out of that, bloody curse to you. Others in vessels, bit of a handkerchief sail, pitched about