A shy room, an intimate room. It is the wind blowing tunes through the rushes. Resisted, but wrote: nothing. The words, small tops of foam.
Then the day slowly closed in on our eyes. The lights lighted. About the transformation of the landscape and the white sky and the sea’s tints of grey. One morning, a piece of the sky. Darkness and light are languages unto themselves _ go with the flow! Desertion. Assertion.