The birds hammer on the shantytown-style walls of my consciousness, adherent to the peculiar logic that just because I didn't go to bed at night-time, they've the right to keep me up way past daytime. And once sunlight starts to spread across the landscape, not quite like molten gold (because the trees are not burning and I am not as of yet sued by the Pratchett estate), they will probably gather gather outside of my window for another session of he-dinna-go-to-bed-before-sunrise-so-let's-keep-hime-up-all-day-time.

But their chattering notwithstanding, or perhaps because of it, in the early grey dawn, beneath a steel sky, in the last days of night longer than day...

Words & Voices goes live.

This is where it begins. You were there.