That wind. I see it’s blowing now. Furtive but commanding, it has dictated every move we’ve ever made. My mother felt it, and so do I – even here, even now – as it sweeps us like leaves into his backseat corner, dancing us to shreds against the stones. V’la l’bon vent, v’a l’joli vent. I though we’d silenced it for good. But the smallest thing can wake the [email protected] a word, a sign, even a death. There’s no such thing as a trivial thing. Everything costs; it all adds up until finally the balance shifts and we’re gone again, back on the road, telling ourselves – well maybe next time