The dusk that doesn't hurt your eyes mixed with the movement of every leaf in the wind and the sound of every creature. The squidgy mud that has welcomed so many feet multiplied by the air that has been in so many lungs. One second glances minus the sloshing of crisp wine which only wants to escape. So many legs and so many eyes and ears and beats and shapes. The butcher is stopping now, it’s the end of the day for him, he wants to go home to see his beloved dog. He understands, enough now. How could the person I used to love try to make me feel so negative about this wonderful world?