memoirs of a childhood

   ... silently ran into the grass. Hiding behind tall green blades. Wind and sunlight chased each other. Shades of different greens danced within shadows of warm and cold greys.

Theatre; as if for blind, music for deaf. A play worth a song of silence.

Ants are busy as if in a different world. A much happier one it seems. Picking little leftover pieces, they carry in rows. Soon one by one disappear into a tiny hole.

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