So the wind whistles
So the naked trees wave
So the air turns to still life and the grass dies
So the rain sits above me but never falls
So the garden gate swings a little then stops
So a wheelbarrow sits at the foot of the hill, traction now impossible
So the only life I see goes by at 50km an hour
So my thoughts are condensation on a pane of glass
They fog up for a moment, then vanish.