I talk at the speed of trees that pass you on a train journey. Hundreds of thoughts planted tall, loud, incessant. Β I don't expect you listen to me, I don't expect you to notice, but then you pick out one leaf from the twenty-eigth branch of the twelfth tree Β and ask me why it's painted a deep scarlet. And there's n o t h i n g that stops me from turning that hue too.