Catherine McCormack

In a pine tree behind me, an eagle waits out the rain, hunched into himself, brooding. Crows squabble, a murder chasing a raven. Seals cruise the lines of fishing nets bobbing in the water, hoping for an easy meal, the tender bellies of salmon.

The Americans have their way of talking, their way of dressing, their way of doing things, and we have ours. That's why this whole U.K. underground thing has become sick, because everyone has finally said, 'Yeah, yeah, Drake is sick - but hang on, we are too.'