Wings of a half finished book across his chest.

But the future lay open, a thousand kaleidoscopic possibilities with a small quick heartbeat, delicate and impatient

faces pressed against the pane, full of little, content with sawdust tears.

desperately knocking against the blind little world, i loosened one of its planks, opening a window to a new, wider world. There, spread out, was a profusion of geography, of atmosphere, of full empty air.