The Dying Universe

In the middle of the storm
the wind carries soft voices.

Maybe it's not over yet.

Maybe the sun will kiss us
one last time
when we walk into
moonlight;
along winding promenades
of sand of time;
backpacking through
the dying universe.

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Saturday Night

Let me introduce a new label to you. It won't be a label I'll post a lot under, but it might be interesting to some of you: Writing. I'll post some short stories, maybe essays, and in general longer texts under this label. Here is a short story I wrote for a contest once. It didn't win anything, but since the whole thing is over, I can now post it here. Enjoy.

The Long And Winding Road

The long and winding road winds up and down the lonely hills, leading me from the wild and wide sea, with stormy winds in my back, through grassy and misty lands, sky overcast, scarf wrapped around my small and slender shoulders, up and down the rocky hills, goats and sheep my only friends on this long, last journey, up into the mountains high, woods all around me, climbing up high towards my resting place. From here I shall watch the sea, the place I loved, and never shall I return.

Fern

This was an early picture that I took with my mum's first digital camera. I had lots of fun with the macro function in our backyard and in some of the parks in our little town. That was before I was made aware that people would usually deal drugs in those parks and was forbidden to go. I went anyways.

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