"if you are fortunate, the memory will be more recent than childhood. the repeated lines of words and music are like paths. these paths are circular and the rings they make are linked together like those of a chain. you walk along these paths and are led by them in circles which lead from one to the other, further and further away. the field upon which you walk and upon which the chain is laid is the song.
into the silence, which was also at times a roar, of my thoughts and questions forever returning to myself to search there for an explanation of my life and its purpose, into this concentrated tiny hub of dense silent noise, came the cackle of a hen from a nearby back garden, and at that moment that cackle, its distinct sharp-edged existence beneath a blue sky with white clouds, induced in me an intense awareness of freedom.”