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Life is too short for boring stories

It starts very small. It always starts small. Just a spark at the edge of the forest. Pride and sublime, the trees rise to heaven. Decades of growth gave them this enormous height. They do not move, they are just there. And then it comes, this little spark, nestles between withered grasses and leaves, unconcerned …

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Mist-bedded, delicately flattered, the rugged, steep stone walls rise to the sky, mist-bedded, taking away the heaviness of the night. The mist flows around the stones, me, whispering, urging: „Go ahead, stay with me, go the way, I suppose you.“ The wind has gone to rest: „Do not you want to finally find peace?“, He …

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