Between the speed: life!

That’s how time rushes: the things I have to do, the actions to do. The day makes its way through my life like an arrow and I fly after it. To what, to where?

Space: in the distance against the hill, a woman in a red dress walks along a narrow path between a barren field and a fresh green field. I look at her firm stride and white hair, split from my world. The things I have to do, the actions to do.

To the side of my perspective, I see two pensioners scurrying through a front yard. He lifts the hedge trimmer somewhat weakly but firmly. She bends over a plant like a cradle. The sun is shining beautifully.

Narcissism. The world around me is immense. Virtually nothing sticks in the filter of my goals. Until I take my time and confirm them in my existence: the old birdhouse against the lantern, once screwed high, now forgotten, wearing out, peeling slowly hanging the day.

Details: side roads of the main issue. But that birdhouse. That dress. The cradle.