It consisted of stark sunlight and mostly dead grass. There was the rusted intricate fence of a

churchyard and existence just on the horizon behind it. The day was damp. The ground was

saturated with the remains of once fresh snow. The grass was yellow. The dirt was black. It was

January, just on the verge of February and it was especially warm considering the bitter cold of

the weeks before. Nature was confused. The green beginnings of plants had surfaced, delicate

and hopeful. But it is not spring, and we are not gods. There is no time for beginnings now. They

will be obliterated in a matter of days.

It consisted of birds singing and cement pipes. There were bare trees. There was a padlocked

shed and abandoned playground equipment. There were no flowers. Certainly there must have

been a sunrise that day and probably a sunset.

It consisted of shapes in the clouds and shadows.

There were six pairs of feet in a circle. The body was in the center.