Cathy crept up the stairs to the roof terrace. The potted plants stood along the boundary wall, their shoots going well over the top and beyond into the void, dangling.
After a while, like a copier, she softly let out a bird call whistle that floated away towards the spinney near the harbour of a railway yard.
Soon, from among the firs, a sonorous reply came in like notes before the wings fluttered and the warbler rose into the air and flew towards Cathy, she waiting with a handful of millets.
It landed on her outstretched palm pecking away as she gazed at its purplish plumage, mesmerized.