Wind, smell of storm.The ancient breath of the heart that aches,the stale scent of silent silence.Trees shaken and bent by the turmoil of time,smiles dull in the heat of an escapedriving nowhere.Dust that slips or swirls impetuously,time passes and trembleswithout a goal to dwell on.Rain that washes or wets and breaksthe screaming waves of the rising tidelike fear or angerof being stuck and crushedfrom the … Continua a leggere Now and Here