In the front garden
The winding metallic shutters sprung open with elasticated force, clanging loudly against the roof of the lorry, exposing the top half of it’s storage space to the outside world. The clanging sound worked like a gunshot, with birds as the bullets, sending them scattering outwards from the overhead trees. Majestic mammals of the sky disbanding in pure natural rejection to the unwelcome noise. The winged wonders all squawked at the top of their lungs until their noise faded. Whether their squawking carried on after the distance numbed it, I don’t know, because quite frankly the birds are not important, so let's just shush about the birds.