I’ve been lying here motionless for about a hundred years on the burning sands or on the freezing snow, and I suppose I do not think of anything. This is when I feel completely free.
But then I’m brought back by the sound of an airplane or a seagull circling above me. In matter of fact I like autumn. I’m admiring one of the trees of the Schlossgarten, with its waning headdress. Under it a small girl with incredible almond eyes feeding a grey sparrow. Other big headed sparrows are being neighborly with each other on a fence, overlooking a sad fact. Autumn promises nothing but a teeth clenching future. There are no exceptions, not even for this beautiful park I’m sitting in. Many bird-week journeys away the torch of a statue points out the hight of freedom. The length of freedom is the shade of the setting sun cast over the harbour.
In My Lady’s garden pale pink rose bushes are reminiscing over the death of summer.
It is getting dark, I go down on the beach once more. Looking at half naked people now gives me the shivers.
The city is washed away in neon lights or a humid climate.
A year or so ago I used to gaze into the river on Tower bridge. The fog circles of the Thames were slowly strangling the sight.
We’re descending now.
“In a few minutes we will be reaching our destination, we would ask our passengers to stay seated, leaving your seats in a vertical position, keeping your belts fastened. The temperature outside is 15 degrees. We hope you had a pleasant journey. We wish you a great day and hope you choose our flight again!”.
I’ll walk down the stairs after the last person to leave. Dyce is waiting. I put my hands in my pockets and I find a yellow leaf in there. Who knows where it comes from.
Standing on the hill, next to the obelisk my eyes wander over my footprints left behind in the snow.
And in the valley hidden in grey mist I spot the chicken scoop, some of the pigs, a child riding a bycicle, people playing football, a few houses, a small community.
