Wings

the breeze that carries traffic sounds across a tractor- scarred farmland... pylons above the bypass reiterate the vantage point of a hawk .....houses with grey blue slates ... nearly rhythmical murmur of the pines and far-heard traffic ... that’s how it always starts ... the enigma of the reservoir, the soft light bathes the red brick mantles of estates... the woman has her left arm raised to shoulder level and bent at the elbow ... that gesture of benediction... this, together with the smile that implies a kind of enigma... someone has written the word austerity on her body ... the stranger carefully underlines the... uh ... noises from the steelworks across her shoulder... the bus crawls on all four wheels wheezing in the sun...... heads sink under blocked grates...we journey to the end of the street...a cul de sac ...