Early morning. Slumped against the churchyard wall by the bus stop. The bus driver’s deep in his newspaper; we won't be leaving yet. Hiatus. From the blinkered space between sleep’s hangover and the numbing cold of a grey morning, look up… and up, and back and see the ordinary, extraordinary patterns on the sky.Zoom lens: eyes, then feet float up towards the tree-tops. Cool, dreamy clarity of Winter shapes. With me still at noon.