Lost for words
Sir, – You’ll have to do something about Michael Harding (Life, November 20th) “. . . the leaves rustled around me like the sound of a banshee shuffling across the floor of heaven . . . and trees withering away so gracefully that I can almost hear them making a kind of music, like old swans”.
If he continues to paint lyrical word magic, all us amateur scribblers shall just cease to toil, redundant in the word factory. – Yours, etc,
Ballinasloe, Co Galway.