He felt an urgency to move on, to take the next step in his life, and yet, as he was driving past the familiar old town, alongside a series of bridges spanning a river, he caught sight of a slight swaying in the high tops of trees.  He had to stop.  He found the sole bench outside the two-seater cafe, took his seat, and, as he examined three people walk by, noticed that the sidewalk had grown city cracks in it; through them sand had surfaced and spread.  He marveled at how residents had adjusted with denser flat sandals and boots.  The wait for that breeze he had noticed in the treetops was usually never long.  When two more people walked by and he noticed the hem on the skirt of one catch a little air, he leaned back to watch that breeze soon pick up and a trailing wind then hurl dress and sand up into a cinematic reverie of some dusty lane out on the edge of livable.  It was that quick, a sudden gush before the sand and the hem settled with the wind and he was back in his car, set to go, feeling himself in a movie with a heroic role to play.