Mårran

this little happiness of mine that seems to me in every moment.

today was again so very bright, this time I watched the light here, in the countryside. strange smoke, very extensive, maybe coming from the grave lights, maybe just from the October. vast space full of sunlight, long shades. sounds more and more muffled. the first snow is coming, they say, with their voices full of reverence and fear; they want to see the Groke and yet they're afraid of it.
and so am I.
the light so final and glaring, it's beautiful, but it's extreme, I'm afraid of the threshold and the new paragraph, I keep on searching my serenity.

I'm interested in the view, the field and the balk, the quality of wind and multi-layered structure of silence. I can feel it pulsating in my stomach and to have this eternal hideout up here is like knowing there's always a safety net underneath, when I walk the Warsaw line. it's all very lyrical and I don't want to be pretentious; sarcastic neologisms that bud in my head when I'm in the city are much easier to defend. here is the tender place and emotions are like skating on thin ice, and then it's difficult to get into communication here, these places are more about being quiet. micro world, most beautiful prison. feels like I've always wanted to meditate through it all, work on it with my senses, but there was never enough time, body, attention. my legs are so astride. and I don't seem to know what is an illusion and what is real, because the truth of this Masovian plain and the Warsaw truth are two separate things. both in black and white.
I need to calm down.

P.s. I love, endlessly.