The rumbling of the occasional car, speeding past our house. A murky grey sound.
Snippets of human voices. A woman’s giggle. A crimson sound.
The arrhythmic clicking of stiletto heels on the pavement. A copper sound.
The roar of the night bus. A faint white sound.
The rustling of leaves, disturbed by the wind. A golden sound.
The yelp of a fox. A scarlet sound.
The shriek of a motorbike. A black sound, like tar.
The rhythmic clang of the train, not too far. A brass sound.
The high-pitched whirr of the light bulb in the angle-poise lamp on my desk. A tinny sound.
Sweet recorder sonatas by Telemann, wafting out of my CD player. A dark honey sound.
The tick-tock of the second hand of the alarm clock by my bed. Black and white sounds.
The click of the front door; one of my flatmates coming home after a wedding reception. A candy-pink and sky-blue sound.
The thud of the front door; another flatmate returning after a night on the town. A red sound.
The translucent harmony of moonlight, floating through the air. A silver sound.
A cat meowing across the street. An emerald-green sound.
A night wind, blowing through the streets. A diamond-cut sound.
Stars, shining in the sky. A myriad of colours, like the notes of a glockenspiel.
I cannot sleep.