feeling like standing in front of a giant fire whereas all i see are dry bulrushes.
„home“, they whisper when the wind sways them back and forth.
now i am sitting on a cold stone and still can’t take my eyes off the islands they remind me of, standing there, high and dry, in the midst of a green field. they move so beautifully, i wish i was one of them.
i don’t want to leave this peaceful place. the birds are singing and i do not even mind the cold. Thick grey clouds give notice of rain and the sun behind slowly sets.
time to go home.
from a cloudy day back in april