“Go boy go!” they say. So I go.

We don’t go through these days, through lands and forest, but over. Over our heads the birds fly, bringing with them the scent of foreign lands. They say when they reach, “The trees are different, they change color with season”! But if they were to look around at all the other birds in the sky, only they had feathers blue, yellow and tropical purple.

What brought me here? Was in the whispers of paradise, or the wind which blew? Whispers and wind, they came from the East and left us all unsettled and dreamy.