There's an ambient sound in the light of this sill, this wooden panel of glass and appreciation of architecture and planning and the lack thereof. There's a scent to the air which is like somebody wants to care, but just doesn't. A crow sits.

There are rusty tools in the shed and rotting wood on every building. Dead leaves on all grounds. Silent fires. Silent animals and corpses.
Silent golden jewelry sitting in a drawer, waiting for it's half life.

The man with blonde hair is new. So is his blood and sweat. Things are changing.
He's running for his life.