A wind is blowing,
from the high mountains in the west.

Through the big dark forest,
where the owl has its nest.

So many years,
just passing by.

Without letting us know where or why.

Year after year.
in the same direction.

Whit no beginning.

Whit no end.

The morningsun just rising,
meating up whith the wind.

A wind still blowing,
over a horizon in the east.

Making wave after wave,
in the dark blue sea.

A sunset, the earlier morning sun is sinking,
just as it has done so many years.

Without letting us know where or why.