What dying tells us about life: The last leaves, already pale on the graphic undergrowth, and the moment of finding in them a gateway to the essence of the world.
In the cloud-shrouded silence under the Ettersberg, silence is the gateway to matter and to inner images.
As the snow began to get old, and the storm blew the ice skin from branches, my nights grew shorter.
The sky was evil, a battle raged at its edges.
Blue openings slid in at its dome, like puzzle pieces of hope.
The dog chased the leaves that flew across the field as if she could hear the wind’s will to play.
Physicality moved closer to me with the rising and falling of titmice between feeders and branches.
The densest places on earth are the places of writing, where legibility enters matter.
Prayers of stone.
Our life is the earth breathing.
It expands in it and fills space.
Translation Eliza Rozeboom
Image Alexey Melechin, Unsplash
