"World's end, the sunlight that fell down to earth was warm, a warm wind blowing through the flowers.
On a wooden bridge, the dust that morning silent, a mailbox red and shining all day long, a solitary baby carriage on the street, a lonely pinwheel.
No one around who lived there, not a soul, no children playing there, and I with no one near or dear to me, no obligation but to watch the color of the sky above a weathervane."