Morning is wild - dew drops on tooth marks. I choose the dew. The sun tries to tame this day - but not for long. It starts to drizzle - the dew migrates to some other spaces. After it there remain sad traces, but the wind dries them. The road meanders between round hills. Then the night tiptoes down the slope. We turn the lights on - in hopes of tomorrow.
© Ludmila Balabanova