All morning in a windowless room learning to stem the trickiness of bleeds rolling healthy strangers into the recovery position thumping compressions into a dummy with no vital signs. Lunchtime, I wipe the sting of antiseptic from my lips go out to clear my airway with a draught of deep September. Jet vapours unravel like bandages though the sky over rowans is cloudless. These scarlet trees have spread their protection from lone hill-steads to town’s corrugated factories. I pick a sprig to ward of afternoon’s harm, carry a cluster of summer scorch back to artificial light.