It's a cloudy day. Dark clouds like sheep herds cover the sky, heavy with rain. Athough it is Summer, it has been a cold day. A chilly breeze blows uninvited through every small hole. The tree that can be seen on the other side of the window shakes with the wind. It bends sadly, slowly moving its big head, like weeping. Today it's not standing proud and thankful to receive the glorious sun. No, today it languishes thoughtful under the soft rocking of the wind wishing for better times. Trees wish for rain, for food.
The sky is grey. There's not a sunny trace of gold. Just a long sustained grey reaching as far as the eye can follow. Who knows what's there behind the hills that surround the valley where this enclosed city lies? There is another city, and another and another until they disolve in peaceful sands that get licked by the constant waves that travel from distant countries, from another continent. The edge of the ocean that does not dare to fully touch the edge of the land.
I wish you could swim like a dolphin and then fly like a sea gull run like a horse and transform again into the man you are.
While I sit here, writing crazy notions about wild transformations, I secretly wish to hear a knock at the door. I would lazily stand up wondering who would want me to do what. And then stand on the door astonished to find you there, no suitcases, wet haired and fatigued ready to fall in my arms.
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