A dog barks. A second later a second, three and four answer, a fifth, untill all the dogs of the goddamn neighbourhood bark.
Then the first stops barking. The others go.
Then in some faraway nearby one of the higher pitches stops
being the dog it is. Others follow and silence stumbles.
I have a small table in front of me. An insect makes its funny way to the main entrance. Water drips from the rooftop.
Then again a dog starts to bark with a rather high and unpleasant pitch. Somewhere far in the valley one of the dogs answers. How
how how how One may appreciate him or she for doing so. The valley barks. A shadow maybe
or something pleasant? No one knows. Who
who who who What am I doing anyway, one could say, sitting here.
An owl whistles, Who
as that old witch that saw and heard everything. Who who who. Nothing knew. Drips in a verb of pitched silence.