But to return to the Chatterer. He persistently terrorized me.
But the Chatterer. He made home-life a burden for both my mother and me--and by home-life I mean, not the leaky nest in the tree, but the group-life of the three of us.
The opportunity came to the Chatterer one day when I was alone in the nest.
The Chatterer came directly to the tree--I remember it was an oak tree--and began to climb up.
The Chatterer was ever a coward, and greater always than any anger he ever worked up was his caution.
Peering up through the bushes, I could see the Chatterer. He had set up a demoniacal chant of joy and was keeping time to it with his teetering.
I made up my mind never to return to my mother and the Chatterer. I would go far away through the terrible forest, and find some tree for myself in which to roost.
Once I looked back and saw the Chatterer still chanting and teetering.
I had but one purpose, and that was to go away beyond the reach of the Chatterer. I climbed into the trees and wandered on amongst them for hours, passing from tree to tree and never touching the ground.
He was also a man of few words, preferring to listen-although only to give the chatterer
enough rope to hang himself with, as he would himself say.
The placement of the in-line mic is a little too low, which will annoy if you're a regular handsfree chatterer
, although the lead is removable.