In seemingly quiet paths of ice, the wind moves with ease.
The air does not allow mists to rise too steeply. All mists gradually turn to crystals covering a multitude of tree-twigs and wires.
See, how it happens, in the night, a walker’s steps are heard beyond the range of vision. Each step ascertains the impossibility of balance between the forces in the whole Universe.
How is that? I wonder. How come, the world is different from what we think it should be. Footsteps thunder and squeak on the ice-covered, wind-swept, sand-bespotted road…
After the short summer, a never-ending winter. After the rains of July, the snows of November. Time condenses like so much vapour out of the air. I open my eyes and look into the flamboyant glory of golden leaves, I blink, and behold! there is the nakedness and austerity of the early winter.
We walk. We explore the nightly world, frost-bound and obscure. The cold of our hearts serves as a balance to the cold we perceive in the wind and the winter.
In the middle of the glacial night, I put a candle in my window. To light the way of those lost in their home-coming from the remotest outskirts of this nocturnal endless winter.
