In the woods

I mean… I feel free here. I can breath here. I feel welcomed and there is so much stuff to do, observe, to…

Just be and…

Well, nothing more matters.

Especially when you meet those. Leaves and branches.

Beings…

Listen to whispers and…

Then suddenly there is that procession.

Because how can you call it… a protest?

But against what?

A gathering?

Well, when you notice this main figure…

You know it is more ritual than just: we want bread and Olympics.

So much more.

There are stories hidden in every piece of this…

Amazingness.

But that front-man. Is he running away from them or leading them…

Or maybe he is preaching them?

Or just waiting, for them to grow and follow him. Follow him into the madness nobody else wants to meet.

Or maybe…

Well… just stop here, find in a woods a spot which inspires you and listen to the stories. They are there. For sure.

They are everywhere.

Why are you bored?

How can you be when so much is happening around?

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