From the window

Branches swayed to and fro amidst heavy harsh wind. Vienna, it was 17 degrees. In between cold, branches pale grey skins told stories how hard its frail body tried to cling on to the ground. The struggle of pain has let all leaves betray and left along with time.

On the dark alley's wall of my flat, I watched this silence shadows masquaraded as dances. Drips of rain then became the applauding spectators.

In my own loneliness on the last day in Vienna, they remained to be my best friends.