HE WHISPERS THROUGH PINE TREES

It was very quick, the book fair. Smiling. People coming and going, talking or just watching me drawing. An older man showing his pictures (of sheep, goats and countryside homes). He had started to draw and paint in age of 75, I was happy. Listening his story I almost forgot that I was there to work. I drew a small forest, kids around me drew on the wall their names.

Then there was a happy lunch in the city, two cats and a girl behind one window, friends around till the last train home. The last train home broke down, but I was happily asleep as long as it was working again and making its lullabying melody of going home.

Today a long bicycle trip in town. Passed a beautiful graveyard, there was a small flower shop open. They luckily had also candles there. One I lit in the graveyard for my grandfather, who surely is sitting in top of a pinewood tree now and whispering his words when the wind flies through the branches. Of fishing luck, stacks of firewood and berry picking. "I am just listening to the radio," I remember him saying the very last time we met some years ago.

Squirrels were there too to lit the candle.

Originals of these photos were taken by Darren. He is going to travel almost around the world (in my mind). Bon Voyage dear, come back home safe!