Their fragile faces wave to the breeze.And I basked in it...the gentle spring, warmed by the sun, cooled by a soft wave of air sporadically, I would never heard birdsong in a photograph before.I turned to ask what he meant by all this, but when I opened my eyes he was gone.And in his place was a photograph, of me, eyes closed, smiling in a tram stop in the rain.This is knifey, from 'the internet'.