Up the mountain at the top of the trees hang the colored figures that the birds of prey have scattered. On the prowl near mossy rocks to the inner source the wolf is watching quivering muzzle. Rise from the valley the procession of humans scraping from their studded shoes the pebbles of the railway. Stopping in the clearing they lay down the burden this dead body on a broken beech trunk. The songs riseof the other time elsewhere and today marriage of guttural sounds and mild complaints like a growing love ending. Over the forest the solar star explodes pushing away the morning mists it straightens the reversed forces. It's time to get to work to lay the dewdrops on the foliage then to light the fire of fertility blossoming into infinity.
