The excavated sand was sharply in contrast with the calm blue of the sea.
You could sense and feel the human presence that would have soon resumed his frantic activity.
That was just an interlude, a truce.
It was a non-time to shorten as much as possible.
It was an intermediate situation with no value at all, apart from being a transition between a first and an after.
Its end was decreed and sure. Few days, maybe some weeks, and the sea and the beach would had a different shape.
And no one would have reminded of this embarrassing and messy interlude.
The boundary between reality and imagination does not change.
Does not change the feel of reality as it is caught by our senses, does not change the apparent consistency of things and their purpose.
The rules, apparently fixed and immutable or, at least, taken for granted, yet appear to
play their own role, albeit in different ways and forms.
Everything seems to be in the right place.
Yet, a little change of perspective may create a whole new universe, where the
real and the imaginary, the dream and fiction, the high and the low are simply the
projection of one into the other.
A general blog, but still personal. The name as a tribute (my tiny, personal one) to the Crimson King. No specific matter, no specific path or target to be followed or reached. A space where to collect events, ideas, perspectives coming from the world around, but still under my own control.