Winfly (from Southward Bound: Antarctic Cycle) Winfly dawns like any other For those of us who are accustomed To the gentle rhythm of day and night That rocks us through the months and years. We eat our breakfast, we put on our coats, we go to work And strangers in the street slip past unnoticed. Planes come and go. Down South the breakfast, coats and work Are joined by trepidation, anticipation, and the spectre of strangers not yet in their midst but taking up space all the same.