There were days.

Red-hot hours of sunshine and rain without drops. A waiting desert over the gray townhalls. Even they longed for some gentleness in tone, not just an insane being.

Anxious hours in my luggage, sad moments that somehow mitigated. We have all been waiting for a soft landing before the new one,
small small moments of rest.

It always turns winds, the resignation. Broken branches also bend in another direction, as a farewell to known bays. It takes power new seas,

and courage.