What a beautiful word.
As it drifts from your lips, it conjures up the image of wind charms, catching a gentle, spring breeze.
Eight letters, arranged in perfect harmony, as if created on Mount Cithaeron itself.
Yet, behind these letters lay a Victorian factory of loud screeching machines, grinding wheels, vibrating metal tubes and howling sirens.
A workplace with no coffee breaks. No holiday periods.
A permanent riot of intrusive noise.
Cacophony, another beautiful word; that lies to you.
Published: Pen to Print