Begin again to the summoning birds to the sight of the light at the window, begin to the roar of morning traffic all along Pembroke Road. Every beginning is a promise, born in light and dying in dark determination and exaltation of springtime flowering the way to work. Begin to the pageant of queuing girls, the arrogant loneliness of swans in the canal bridges linking the past and future, old friends passing though with us still. Begin to the loneliness that cannot end, since it perhaps is what makes us begin, begin to wonder at unknown faces, at crying birds in the sudden rain at branches stark in the willing sunlight, at seagulls foraging for bread at couples sharing a sunny secret, alone together while making good. Though we live in a world that dreams of ending, that always seems about to give in something that will not acknowledge conclusion, insists that we forever begin.