one hour later, still listening to the tree rustle and watching grey clouds over passing kite glide and soft rains gentle touch breeze breathing dry leaves rolling dancing over the weeds tarmac, campanula dandelion and forget me not, magpies rattle distant and near sounding repeating resonating the air sky chamber, as a pencil softs the grey lines inviting transformation from passive to active in the gaze of the last red nasturtium.