The garden was alive. More alive than it had been for years. Greens, yellows, reds and browns all fighting for attention. Margaret sat in her window box seat and watched it move with the gentle rain driven breeze. The trees and flowers mingled with air that had travelled from elsewhere as it moved on to somewhere else. Birds were gathering food while the food was darting about like the leaves trying to escape. The garden was alive with life and death, but looked serine.