Songs of the Morning

Wreathes of dry branches, narcissi, ivy and cyclamen aureole a paler sky, which speaks in different voices of the rueful night, of having, and having been. Whispers of a softer breeze than is allowed us in our trespasses. Verity Spott’s Songs of the Morning drifts through times and spaces at the threshold of events, lightly knocking on the doors, a disparate collage re-collecting through the vector of shreds - and finding colour here, like a bruise in waking dream, where yearning is the strongest shade, almost touching. [publisher's note]