I think it was June. I remember the amber waves of grain while driving slowly in those secondary roads lined with trees.
Bold and proud, they seemed to defy the sky.
Tall and vigorous, they talked of an ancient magnificence, strengthen by the severity of the times they have experienced.
And then, there they were: red spots, and white spots, and green spots for sure, but I swear I saw also wriggles of lapislatzuli and stains of topaz and blades of emerald and sobs of ruby and flashes of gold, among those amber waves that moved gently.
Dust rose from the border of the road, and faded away in the air.
I think it was June, and I was in the middle of nowhere, among hills and fields and country roads of gravel, and white dust.
And the houses were far away, and troubles were far away, and the mind was free and open and excited.
Talk Talk on the radio. Happiness is easy.
The sense of belonging, the sense of being one.
Stories and novels, stories and shades of words. Sapphire can be a voice, a whisper, a night talk. Colours in words, words merged and melted with pictures. Words as colours, words as shapes sometimes overlapping with the visual experience. A different way to see the world or, maybe, just the very same way using different tools and finding different paths.