snow has almost melted
the sun is out
stone and wood
and light
the morning's cold breath
the music
eyes travel
behind the hills
beneath the wells

we like Tim Buckley's music a lot in the house, especially my little bird.
We can leave the cat out, though

going to school

every day that goes by I go older.

This note makes me feel almost like

Tarkovsky.

i may stroll through heavy snow

bearing the silent torture

of the human load

our day full of whites and browns and at some point some greens


perhaps for the first time in my life i realize
i have to respect and rely my well-being on
everything and everybody else but myself.
And for the first time in my life
my glassy solitariness is probably broken.

the fruits in the kitchen are shining
and sweet
singing to me what's not real

I am


ps. even in this fictional non-place

up

it is miracle to see
new leaves growing out of your thought-to-be dried out little plant!

this is not the place nor the time to talk about such things;
to wish
for my country
come alive again
no matter how doomed and small

what shameful end for this country's long and great history
would be
the total extinction in those incapable hands

but i am telling you there are seeds
in this heart of land

it has begun
:)

maybe you listen to the same music
now