Picture a tall, dark figure, surrounded by cornfields. . . NO, YOU CAN'T RIDE A CAT. WHO EVER HEARD OF THE DEATH OF RATS RIDING A CAT? THE DEATH OF RATS WOULD RIDE SOME KIND OF DOG. Picture more fields, a great horizon-spanning network of fields, rolling in gentle waves. . . DON'T ASK ME I DON'T KNOW. SOME KIND OF TERRIER, MAYBE. . . . fields of corn, alive, whispering in the breeze. . . RIGHT, AND THE DEATH OF FLEAS CAN RIDE IT TOO. THAT WAY YOU KILL TWO BIRDS WITH ONE STONE. . . . awaiting the clockwork of the seasons. METAPHORICALLY.
Whenever I heard the song of a bird and the answering call of its mate, I could visualize the notes in scale, all built up within my consciousness as a natural symphony.