The people who lived in this house before the wife and I moved in were kind enough to leave a wind chime in the outside entertaining area (I don’t like the word pergola… to me to sounds like some pacific battle from WW2), for which I was very greatful.
I love windchimes. To the point where I don’t understand why otehrs wouldn’t. Not that it matters, because I also don’t trust them. I mean, who could trust someone who doesn’t love windchimes?
For me they herald they beginning of something. Perhaps it’s my watching all those terrible late 80s and 90s horror films, where a few clink-clonks on them signalled someone was about be offed…. whatever the cause, I love them, and they aid my writing no end… even when the pigeons also took a shine to them.
There’s also a tree in our back garden. And oak, I think, although I’m terrible at guessing trees without leaves and we moved in in winter, but to the local pigeons its the most comfortable tree around, and since I moved the windchomes to catch more breeze, well now they have something to play with too.
So, I’ll be writing, with a gentle tinkle-plinkle-plonk in the background, when suddenly it be like Bez from the Happy Mondays has been on the Vimto and decided to go at them with his maracas.
Exhibit A (minis Bez and maracas):