This is the road through the homeland, it calls you to leave, when you would return. Because, it is too close once. The tips of the petals, the curves of the leaves, the seeds in the bud, the forest shines, the forest sings. The cloud has wrapped you in its curl. Let's go on, so you don't stay there. One man from the village has not yet touched that cloud. Because, his hip hurts. Be grateful and pass by. Be grateful, the clouds descend on the village, early in the morning. will gather the extinguished glow that refracts, that crosses the horizon, further into the vortex where there is still patience for hiking. you go in the opposite direction, in the golden yellow and red color of the climate. somewhere the music goes away, somewhere it stays even when the crickets have fallen asleep. it is in the knees, in the bend for a new climb, for the day after sleep. go, so that you may return. everyone has left, scattered, so that you may now be here.