Before you wake, you already know it’s morning. The sun touches your cheek, phosphenes dance before your eyes. Slipping over the threshold of perception, sounds re-assemble the city around you: traffic, birdsong, a neighbour’s radio, a barking dog. Snug in the bed, you fight to hang onto the moment when the world is in flux, before all the connections are made and reality takes a final, immutable form.

– Jake Wilson , ‘ Tony Woods -Archive ‘