The wind whips and lashes out against the soft parchment of the leafs, as a child would twiddle a pen, for Meer satisfaction to quench its insatiable urge of ecstasy.
Unconnected the deep chestnut colour of a tree continues to darken and repeats its amaranthine cycle, until the final glisten of sunlit leaves.
And in that garden of eden which resides in a barren place wrapped up in a warm blanket of heather, a bird might commune with its fellow brethren about its day to day activities.
Unaware.
I may look on that moment in my teens and remember the time i sat just as a god would do and observed without ever acting or influencing the many small lives that surrounded me.