In which room she exclaimed: "Heaven, my husband!"?
short. Tonight the sky was so beautiful here, some pictures. I did not even my camera with me, but it is the fault of winter. Loss of reflexes, numbness of the brain.
( this morning)
the morning he dyed pastel water that reflects this. The fog sometimes gives him a timid, to make her blush atmosphere.
By day, he must still fight with some fluffy clouds, the wind from those bullies, pushing them above the rooftops as a cavalry behind.
And in the evening.
the evening, he explodes with what the day did not let him, he gets four thousand, color brush straight, sharp, in lines of white deftly traces the journey from East to West. The same direction always
Soon, the long morning walks, or those of the evening when the night is late, finally.
But even the dark night, makes me see the bright stars: Orion the pantheon, which makes me the eye as soon as I found, faithful.
(tonight)
between land and sea that is now mine, flush all over, as if the earth was getting out sponge oceans are below. Wherever I go, the water is there, present, dangerous or beautiful, or deep puddle or pond calm turbulent ocean.
A look at the water, you know the weather. She turns from gray to black, blue to emerald, it is smooth as crystal or curled like a scarf knitted.
My barometer is a short walk from my house.
I'll walk often in the morning, that is the view of the sky that tells me it's time, or just want to loose my mind, walking.
Tonight, look.
There was this beautiful sky, and water as a mirror, the colors and the air I breathe as if you robbed me of a weight.
(tonight too)
is my home.
It is now.
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