The floorboards in the corridor outside my studio are old and creaky. As I sit here I occasionally hear the door at the end of the corridor open and then – footsteps. A visitor? A delivery? For me? Or maybe just a passer-by. Fast steps, slow steps, children scampering, dogs’ claws sclattering. Occasionally, someone is lost, reading the signs on the doors, or someone stops and takes a call on their mobile, oblivious to their eavesdropper.
Mostly, no one comes and no goes. But when they do, the noise connects me to the building and the wider world. By and large, I don’t register it at all, yet the tiny cycle of recognition, expectation, analysis and farewell provides an emotional ripple as I drift through my working day.