Of all the birds

Seven pm on Saturday, a whole day after the last day was meant to end. A slow day, husbanding declining stamina and patience, quietly finishing the last tasks I’d set myself, and now it’s really done: the last accumulated bits and bobs and goodbye gifts bagged up to take away, a tiny bunch of sage lit to ‘space-clear’ the office I’ve been sitting in these past eleven years, the window opened to let out the smell and, as it floats away on the damp evening air, the Radio 3 concert from Ireland ends with a sixteenth century song, "Of all the birds that ever I see".