Summer is not really here, they say, but I don’t believe them. It’s not a matter of naivety, nor inexperience, but simply we see only what we want to see.
This morning, I remembered my old dream about a black dog. He was there, at the door – in front of me, but hmm… Very strange… As if someone had infiltrated me in the Hitchcock’s movie. Two crows, attacking a dog and me – standing still, smoking, watching and waiting for the Monday to start unfolding.
rumbling winter storm –
ents are dancing with their wives –
ancient limbs entwined
I don’t even try to find
a way out from this dream