A last picture from back home; a vase and withered sunflowers, as it should be at this latitude by autumn. September 29th.
The line; the (other) end.
A piece of impenetrable rock; darkness inside.
A pathway’s mouth; wriggling and meandering around the fields as was it a creek.
The last night of April bonfires are lit here, to celebrate the arrival of spring. September carries the fading memories only.
The three pools.
An artist’s impression.