Rattle call
a persistent daydream
Hello. This post is about Death & Birds.
During that first Covid year, at 8pm on every Thursday evening people across the country would briefly exit the homes in which they were ‘locked down’. They would stand on doorsteps, or hang out of windows to applaud, cheer and hit pots and pans by way of acknowledging the extraordinary effort and sacrifice of the key-workers across the country. The same, heroic key-workers who, just months later, were denied raises by the very government who encouraged the practice.
I had a persistent daydream, at the time. I imagined that, of a Thursday evening, every person across the country would eye their clocks as 8pm approached, before collectively rising and amassing on doorsteps and at open windows. There would be a quiet, solemn hush, dense with reverence and solidarity. Then, in the few seconds before the clocks struck the hour, one collective inhale, followed by a 67 million-person strong primal scream—raw, guttural, not an inch of lung wasted, doubled over, fists clenched, gasp-inducing howls. From 8.00 till 8.01, everyone joined in a minute of shared grief, rage and anguish—before picking themselves up, bowing respectfully to their neighbours and faithful witnesses, then continuing on with their evenings.