SETTING THE SCENE
The morning song birds have sung their songs. The dawn choruses are all ready for their day’s busy lives. Flying here and there, catching the first moth, bug or butterfly for their own breakfasts. Stretching their wings whether they are short or long whilst flying high on the lightest of breeze in the skies first light. This very new day’s morning’s colours so wondrous, red, orange, yellow, with the glint of the skies blue hues. Nothing breaks their silent world, except for the chirping to each other. This is their time where the other world is silent and still, no hazards, no perils, except for the felines that are still out and about, waiting for their last prey before going home and sleeping the day away, ready and waiting for the next prowl at midnight.
Meanwhile, in a quiet sleepy suburban, out-of-town village, stirrings and wakening’s slowly happening. Thousands of twilight workers coming home from their night-shifts. The rail maintenance workers finishing after a long night work replacing the old for new track. Exhausted, and ready for a good days sleep. The milkman making his deliveries for their morning cups of tea or coffee and breakfasts cereals, the glass bottles clinking and clanking on doorsteps. Nestled and secluded in the corner of the cul-de-sac, sheltered all around with leafy bushes and trees, where there are no deliveries and the bushes and trees are silent not a sound the birds had left long ago at dawn.