William McInnes's story telling just gets better and better, and he really hits his straps with this one. Ahh, mature love - not in the testoserone driven first flush of youth, but between two adults who are wary, awkward, and knowing.
My big question is this: is William a twitcher? He certainly seems to have a genuine knowledge of not only the birds, but of birders themselves, the driven, determined and quirky bunch of octogenarians who track and count birds.
The house that Clare grew up in, where everything was kept, and valued, for another day, is lovingly described. Having just seen large coloured photographs of artists in their studios in the Swan Hill gallery, I can appreciate the comfort of this, and how it can support, and possibly propel, a creative life.