it was a beautiful summer - the anguish healed by a deeper acceptance of all that was wrong in my world - my mother says that acceptance is not resignation but the beginning of a new voyage -

my mother the wind, the stars -

at midnight ghosts rush in and fill the old clock with whispers and rustle and my cocoon of fear becomes a cradle of memories;

the big entrance door of our house is once again a forest of birch trees 

and the key a bird with colorful feathers;

don’t knock, don’t call

I’ll never let you in…