We sat outside talking for hours, at midnight late in september. And I remember the silent clouds, and how the wind was blowing. Blowing in a direction of change, headed for the distant north you said. I kept on insisting that the wind was blowing south. But as I pointed my wet finger up in the air, I felt no wind at all. You sighed and the gust of your air, stroked my finger and I said it's blowing north indeed as I watched you leave.