possessing a bag of seeds was a kind weight. never felt heavy or burdensome. the notion of planting the empty field across the way was going to be an auspicious occasion. only now the soil rested in a deep surrounding silence.
washing the last of the dishes the open window carelessly captivates with possession. stretching she touches the great wind. and with willowy wings hovering over the vanished, she gazes at the gathering of seeds once scattered, revealing a buried task that took a time lasting long.
and now in the blink of an eye the end began. before her written in fine flare the notice had materialized. with wet hands she reaches and touches the great wind.