Windslight

Wind

In this nothing has been omitted or was not touched upon, out of sense, but inside the borders of danger implied. From undulating directions, untransparent excavated ditches, animallike beings at the edge of the stream in grasslike greenness embedded. Reversed eyes: drops fall in the slowly receding trees. In the loampath the crystal cellbodies of the frogs are laughing. A tree spreads its branches in the flaxlike light of the overleaping sun. Voices. But nothing changes. Then everything is new. The bank pushes itselves under the waves. Fishes, but just under the watersurface, swim sideways down. The spitiron falls on the snail. Some further away two dead moles are awaiting their discovery along the only fleetingly treaded path. Ferns, but soft green painted, turn themselves away from their just imprinted images. Now: the anchorchain lies again quiet in the hold, still one drop spatters up but vaporizes itself fast in the upcoming wind.

Light

Later: we slip sluicy through the waterdoors. Again safely enwatered. No unlandable places anymore, but stone walls or sloped-in grasses. The oxidated ship rears from the quay. Small houses raised from the splitted trees. Sunlight, stroken back from the shadow were it was embedded. Again the rustle of the trees. ..There was a countryroad, were we went over-along with build-in motors, the water was glancing on the deck. Hunderdandeighty degrees turned and tolled around, but only one face under the cut-off mirror... Big birds with black coats are watching us from the waterside. Again wind. The gusts are overflowing our shadows. Red and/or green buoys determine our course. The diesel drone stacks itself continously in our fields. Still no horizon, but long tree-rows in the light.