nests...................

 

     Towards the end of his life, riven with chemotherapy, John threw fistfuls of his hair out his window, hoping they would commingle with the sheep wool floating about his neighbour Tim Conner's field.  A few months later that hair was the lining of a chaffinch's nest where she laid her egg and reared her young.

Let us all have a nest with a lock or two of John's hair in it.  God knows what could grow from it.

-Martin Shaw's introduction to John Moriarty's, A Hut at the Edge of the Village