No coats today. Buds bulge on chestnut trees,
and on the doorstep of a big, old house
a young man stands and plays his flute.
I watch the silver notes fly up
and circle in blue sky above the traffic,
travelling where they will.
And suddenly this paving-stone
midway between my front door and the bus stop
is a starting-point.
From here I can go anywhere I choose.