The blade was turning loudly, cutting through a steal which was supposed to become a part of a huge branch. A few yards further, up the wooden stairs, a guy was asking a young girl to start wearing purple for him. He was demanding it so nicely in a melodic form that I told myself :” If only these people could talk to me in that language! The whole journey would be different! “ .
The wheels of the big gate rolled beside me and I suddenly saw the crowd outside. A big band of trumpet players was standing behind the gate in their suits, each playing their own melody. A big guy howled from the interior and the trumpet players shut the door to us.
I often ask myself: “What happened that this happened!?” . I climb the mountains every morning to join a group of people to celebrate the 75th anniversary of “creativity in the mountains”. Sometimes I think it’s all a dream; that the fairies who were flying down the mountains last night were just my hallucination; imaginary watercolor paintings of my mind. At nights when I hear the first whistle of the train I say good night to my day but there are still a lot of sounds calling me out there. On july 23th , I saw a woman who was looking for her children among the long lawns. She was carrying a child's dress that she has made it for them.
On the morning of july 24th as I was opening the entrance gate I told my child: “ Look man! I always start the day with the yellow key.” and he ran to the war zone. I saw a bunch of men in black who were looking for a harpsichord on the loading dock. They asked me if I know what it looks like.
Is that all real or unreal? Is that a sweet dream or is that another moment of my surreal life in the mountains?
The wheels of the big gate rolled beside me and I suddenly saw the crowd outside. A big band of trumpet players was standing behind the gate in their suits, each playing their own melody. A big guy howled from the interior and the trumpet players shut the door to us.
I often ask myself: “What happened that this happened!?” . I climb the mountains every morning to join a group of people to celebrate the 75th anniversary of “creativity in the mountains”. Sometimes I think it’s all a dream; that the fairies who were flying down the mountains last night were just my hallucination; imaginary watercolor paintings of my mind. At nights when I hear the first whistle of the train I say good night to my day but there are still a lot of sounds calling me out there. On july 23th , I saw a woman who was looking for her children among the long lawns. She was carrying a child's dress that she has made it for them.
On the morning of july 24th as I was opening the entrance gate I told my child: “ Look man! I always start the day with the yellow key.” and he ran to the war zone. I saw a bunch of men in black who were looking for a harpsichord on the loading dock. They asked me if I know what it looks like.
Is that all real or unreal? Is that a sweet dream or is that another moment of my surreal life in the mountains?
