The wind that moves the clouds is moved but how? The science of the world escapes me – a skinny, naked horizon like a child running along the sea’s edge can in a glance be troubled or the tops of trees so still can soon be frenzied. Even now, between my breathing in and breathing out, you might find the time to hang your head and hide your smile. Strange to think as children on rides that carnivals provide or throwing balls into the mouths of clowns to claim a prize the world largely complies. Cogs and hinges, latches, rails rarely fail, centrifugal force remains benign most of the time. Almost no carriage leaves its tracks to plot a course that’s not been planned despite the screaming, despite the mad pace of things. Teens hold hands, walk down to the sand and safely toe the water’s edge chaperoned by a mostly balmy evening air. But we have grown and are now fair game for change which like a hungry tiger camouflaged will take and take and let none pass. Nothing now can lie still in the soft grass of summer and have the time to think in the lazy heat of day, winter’s years and years and years away.