When I stopped emailing, I thought to myself, now it’s really the end of the known world. Now I really won’t sleep. Winter rolled, a slow wagon, upon which I was not having a good time. I walked down, down, down to Tesco Express, and up, up, up, home. I thought about that red kite on the hillside, which I could barely make out, but was sure I had watched, swooping, landing on a slope round the back of the house. These are the sorts of sentences I was saying to S and S would tell me, of all people, her secrets. Usually, all these parts are tucked away in the night, so nobody sees or notices. The red kite flew inside my window, which I had not yet opened to breathe in the fragrances of grey Caerphilly. It lay crumpled on our doorstep, with the cigarette butts my mother steps over every day for her walks, listening to podcasts about birdsong. Look at this red kite, crumpled like a tissue on our doorstep. You’ll have to step over it. Oh God, what am I so deep in now? It’s clear that I saw something truly wild out of the corner of my eye one time, or maybe all the beauty in the world in a single moment – earthquakes, forest fires, torrential rain. Something truly wild on a PowerPoint slide. I mean, fine, if I can see it and know it’s out there, running, the wild world, as if still unbroken. A red kite, running and swooping.