The variety of silences. The memory in our bones, our skin, shapes our voices and our eyes. The memory in our houses. Outside, clouds massing over the hills, or aligned in perfect brush strokes. Somewhere, men are dancing arm in arm.
Women build towers of glass and stone.
Fresh air, a little breeze. The smell of smoke. The scent of honeysuckle, apricots, dust after a sudden rain. The smell of bodies moving, dampness in subway corridors, garbage spilling from bins behind the restaurant, the musk of beer, of buses. A great distance to be travelled to the next town.