Slipstream

There is moisture in the evening air. A special concoction of cold and warmth has formed and becomes a suspension mixing with those omnipresent living gliders. The rain washed stone slabs of the empty car parking appear fresh and inviting to the bare feet. There is a new sense of elevation as the low hanging rain clouds move away making a distant blue and white visible, the patterns suggestive of some different dynamics way above. There is a small stream percolating into the ground, dispersing, disappearing, to reach a different layer of the world. There is a rustic smell of burned wood and soaked coal...

The qualm sucks away the breath... A moment ago breathing was easy. 'What just happened'? ... everything seems to whisper and bear a curious expression, makes you think you have survived something. That instills a fear. You look around. Nothing. You listen. Nothing. "What is it?..."

With every new breath, with the swaying Gulmohars and the rustling Bamboos, your heart beat synchronizes. You have been sling shot into a different slipstream...

The moon makes an appearance and a slow sleep blankets the night...

[+/-] Maksim Mrvica - Child In Paradise