Grey clouds hang heavy over my head, the sun has gone away. Tenebrous crows vanish into the misty sky, while peace and thunder mingle in the air. Barefoot, I run across these brume moors and lie down— like a naive writer lost in endless reverie. The light of wisdom stays stuck, never reaching me, so I dance alone with these dark-winged birds. A respite from miserable noises, from miserable choices— the lingering air begs me to stay. Oh, this lavish nature gets under my skin, a radiant visit from long-dead masters. It rains profusely—an exquisite sight to behold— empty streets, no humans in sight, only those courageous enough to walk through it.