It’s the single
wych elm among acres
Of barley fields.

It’s the jerk of inertia,
Inbound car suctioning oitbound car
Passing too quickly.

It’s the distant windmill
Stoically spinning it’s 
Own turbulence.

It’s the balding Frenchman
Lifting my bag before 
His own with his one hand
Not holding his own child’s.

It’s the child 
Letting go
To wave
Au Revoir.