DeSimone An Englishman's home is his bog. If exiled forever, still forever I offer you my hands. I've saved a second of you once as we walked through the village, you looking ahead, face to the wind, smiling. Then for a moment, all stopped, no wind, no sound, no motion, nothing. Then again the wind, stellar winds, flowing.
Wind is time and with every passage measure of wind passes a touch, a breath, a kiss, and time.