It’s a bright day. I make sure that the cap of my flask is tightly threaded, and snug it in against the other contents of my rucksack. Outside the kitchen window, two male Reed Buntings are rummaging about in the
Beacon
Remembering the Whale
I reach out and give it another push. It spins idly, in slow rotations on the desk. Dentine against toughened plastic makes an empty, clinical sound. The enamel coated tip is whiter. Sharper. The business end (a thickly curved point)