This post is also available in: polski (Polish)
When the light goes out over my story, I hesitate to get up and make a coffee in an orange mug but I do it and go into the darkness. The wipers can not keep up with the ocean that pours in front of my eyes. I feel dizzy in my head for thirty minutes. And finally, I see that sheep also like to hide under a rock.
There is cold in the car and I do not want to go anywhere, but I wrest out like a newborn into a graphite-green air. Peat grass smells of relief, and the sunless horizon becomes my home.
The rain washes my face, curls my hair, drips into my shoes and touches my toes when I cross the bridge. Wild ferns in dark green guipure lace and a ram that raises his velvet head from a vegetarian dinner welcome me on the road. I stop and stare at my company, the boulders in the soft grass are silent next to the wordy stream. I turn off the vision of nicer weather.
Sometimes the light just disappears, but we still can discover something on this journey.
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