From Inside the Window   The window looks down upon the formal garden.   The garden walls itself off from the climbing meadow.   The meadow comes to a halt at the lowering sky.   The sky confirms the report of approaching weather.   The weather will wear itself out besetting the window.     The Last Bus   The last bus to the city has gone, the very last bus. We think about that bus as we walk through the village, dead leaves scudding across the road.   Soon those of us who remain will walk past bare-breasted…