Tree Run

These huge flowers in a constellation of vulcanic ashes do not permit any more to observe which worlds you had your departure from. What mysterious lights were burning in the fireplace of your eyes and with what unknown, unforgettable, tireless sparks, your heart was trembling. Let’s leave everything and go deaper, where no one will find us broken and bent.

The run is getting stronger in the rain season. Donk, donk, donk, the drum spreads the beat on the pine and linden tops.

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