My dear friend I was taking a walk early this evening when I found myself in the middle of the woods. Did I walk thoughtlessly all the way there or was it some kind of a dream? The trees seemed numinous as the light beams were making their way through the woods.

A wonderful clarity took possession of my mind when I was slowly making my way out from the forest. Everything around me appeared fanciful to me. I immersed my soul in all around surrounding silence and let it float on the endless sea of emptiness as if the one and only point of my existence was the complete unity between me and the surroundings.

I felt replete with delight, my dear friend, when I finally went out of the forest, which obtained even more imaginary appearance as I was advancing further away from it.

I have watched the sky a lot during last few days, my dear friend, who have graced my modest words with your attention. A cloud floats composedly upon the land and observes all the happening down under. The wind decides the course of its way and even forms its shape. I am envious of its variability; yesterday a sheep, today a wolf. Where will the wind blow you tomorrow heavenly runner?

The loneliness of my days filled by reading of Yeats was disrupted by the arrival of my friend - certain F. We spent the whole afternoon strolling through the beauteous gardens caught up in a lively discussion mainly about the everlasting sorrow of love.

It is indeed true that only time and a good friend’s company could compose man’s image and his cry.

I was walking down the street when I saw her – a raven haired girl with flowers. She was holding a wicker basket full of flowers. A faint smile adorning the maiden’s face greeted me when I approached her. I stopped right in front of the girl and was just about to touch my hat... “Here, take a flower, sir.” she said all of sudden.

The raven haired girl gave me a flower.

It is raining outside, my dear friend. The Earth is being relieved of all the grime for the rain is washing away all the pain. The perpetual circle once again reaches its initial point. Is there anything more joyful than the celebration of renewal which has just begun?

I have recently seen a desolated chair standing on a bank of a pond. The chair representing a token of man’s doing was being slowly devoured by the nature. I could not figure myself a better example of transience.

Is everything we do destined to just fade out and eventually to be forgotten?

A sense of restlessness is slowly growing deep inside me. Some obscure web has got hold of my spirit. Trapped in the cell built up by my own mind I am moving in the circles without even the slightest idea of whence I came, or whither I go.

The macabre shadow on the wall is terrifying me as I am approaching the corner. Unaware of what is behind I recognize the ancient feeling – fear of the unknown.

The ancient tower dwells in the deepening shade of the mountains.
The mighty tower I have built to serve as my shield protects my pride.
The impregnable tower is the place to hide.

There I can pray to be strong again.
There I can ask for the grace.
There I can conceal my tears and put smile back on my face.

Sometimes when the duties hunt me I devote myself completely to Nature. Walking the forest path feels like return to the origin. Neither time nor any man’s concern is of any importance whatsoever when faced with the simple rules of Nature’s life cycle.

It is always a great relief to realize that I am a part of Nature itself amidst the ceaseless search for my place in the world.

What do you see, my dear friend? A long ago forgotten story waiting to be told again or a tiny fragment of space-time lost forever in the ash heap of history?

We measure time with a clock, which is usually round. A circle seems to posses some kind of magic halo as an ideal shape throughout the history of mankind. And it is us, people, who make time cyclic. Whether deliberately or unknowingly we do repeat old stories over and over again.

I have visited the town of F. Upon I. recently. There I have addicted myself to my favorite doing – observing other people.

Friendly even almost irenic atmosphere had charmed me from the very beginning of my visit. One can seldom see such amiable and appreciative people as those who live in this town. They do not blunder away any opportunity to mutually exchange compliments.

But as the time went by I realized that this nice façade covers only empty house. Of course the house is not empty literally for it is cramped with the same old clichés and truisms.

Hey, Wayfarer, where did you leave your walking stick? And why did you take off your boots? Your dust-covered face speaks of a great weariness. Are you searching for a rest now? Did the Journey drained all your stamina and blunt the edge of your lust?

Then rest well here, Wayfarer! Wash down the sweat and dust from your face and recover your strength. But be aware that you will never be able to continue your Journey and thus will stay here forever. Your eyes will lose their depth and gleam as you will sadly gaze towards the distant horizon from time to time.

He is a runner,
he has run all his life.

My dear, is he not running fast?
How long is he going to last,
till they get him and break his legs?

Then they will cripple his soul
and finally reaching their goal -
make the runner sit on a chair,
erase his will to dare.

When Azrael soars above the battlefield... When deadly wounded warrior takes in his last breath... When a rose - once in bloom – dies down...

Please forgive me if I smile.
Please forgive me if I cry.
Please forgive me if I cannot breathe.

Which one of us was so proud
to let the fire burn out?
Was it you or was it me?
Which one of us let you leave?

And there I hang. In the wind where no one breaks the silence. Just as some empty shirt waiting to be worn. Waiting for someone to give me some meaningful form. Someone to fill me and feel me. Thereafter, the silence will be shattered by my arising song. Just do not let me wait for too long.

Please, cut me off. Then put me on. So I can be... You