That strong easterly wind is blowing again. It is upon me, strengthening and beginning to howl through every crack in my world, warm and cold at the same time, ever-changing and yet an old friend already.

It will pick me up like a tornado carelessly lifts a roof, where I thought I was anchored, and will throw me about in a fury. But I know exactly where it will drop me and why, and I am the most willing victim there ever was.

I am ready. My bags are packed, me eyes dreamy, my dreams alive and my life, bagged. A vicious circle which began a long time ago without my knowledge and now fulfills itself in plain view; the only circle, the one that in fact spirals from A to Z, from edge to heart, from chilled to boil, from if to of course.

There will be a clash, once more, fireworks of inner sparks, metal armor against metal shield, as they get dropped and left behind – but the sparks will persist, bright colors exploding inside my head and yours, blending to pure white rather than black as decades of old paint layers are skinned from our souls, stripping them naked until they can finally touch and remember why all the patience.

A million subtle nuances will instantly be added to each place and every moment, turning it all to gold and diamonds, and crystals and gems and flowers which, like us, will glow from the inside. Time will stretch to infinity and now will morph into a new entity, a shape-shifter completely focused on absorbing the essence of what we give it, feeding on us, voraciously.

That strong easterly wind is blowing again. At last.


For Marie