Cuckoo

An upland cuckoo boldly polishes off bird seed glistening in warm humid Cumbria.

I sit watching my cigarette loops smokily ascend and then idly dunk a tea biscuit in my cup. The waiter stands quietly at a distance with polished black shoes matching his polished silver water jug.

The bold cuckoo takes to the huge open sky.

By this time my chauffeur, wearing silky gloves, is ready to take me to the airport and then to Paris. There I shall present an enlightening but somewhat divisive speech at the UN conference.

I stand up, stretch, and consider the journey ahead. My reverie is briefly interrupted by an apple that falls from the nearby tree—I'll take that as an auspicious sign, I guess.