There is always much left unsaid. Please see that. The hour after rain, the leaves glow green again. The hour after rain, the morning air smells clean again. There must be 30 or more kinds of flowers around this place. And birds and insects and soil and worms to make it all work. But in between the spaces, there time and motion make no sense. That is the place that tugs at me. There is always much left unsaid, and people smiling like death itself.