It should be something inspirational, something to make the piece soar, a fitting climax to the whole movement.
He scratched his head, chewed the end of the pencil, let his fingers dance over a few keys until they ended in a terminal ‘thunk’.
It was no good. He just couldn’t find the right expression of hope when so much was going wrong: the pandemic; rioting and racism; political turmoil – and it showed no sign of getting better anytime soon.
Continue reading at Iain Kelly