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A cloudless day. Suburbia in all directions with its familiar sounds: the rhythm of a distant roof repair; the “tsss tsss tsss” of a sprinkler; the laughing of children playing in a yard; the low undulating hum of a mower nearby as the sweet smell of cut grass lifts in the warming breeze. All seems perfect. And yet something doesn’t sit right. A fear resides in the peripheries of the body, pushed aside, pre-verbal. Do not let it in, and yet it calls, threatening articulation. A security gate slams as someone exits cautiously, looking left and right. A car alarm lets out its shrill warning, muted immediately by the “beep beep” of an immobiliser. As a motor gate rumbles open, a dog starts barking, then another, then a third. The ticking of an electronic fence strikes a rhythm, like a metronome as the orchestra starts to change its tune. A distant siren doppler-stretches as it passes. The children fall silent. Perhaps the music never changed… the backing instruments were playing all along. Selected Series: |