A nonexistent spiraling column of invisible smoke, emanating from the freshness of darkness; an inaudible pulsating hum singing to my heart’s ears, a soft continuous whistle, hypnotizing in its undulating waves, lures me into the night. I take one step out of the garden into the grassy sidewalk, gazing up to a hundred distant suns, scintillating in the boundless obscure space. This vast negritude envelops my skin, caressing it lightly.

The evergreen oak forest exhales its fragrance behind me, saturating my nostrils. Birds finally relieved from playing spring songs, fold their little legs and nestle on the twigs they gathered some time ago, and built into a petite, unnoticeable home, perched high on the woods canopy.

At one with the aliveness of a dormant world, I bring my gaze back down to my feet, and step onto the sleepy street, carefully avoiding the protruding roots that appear on the asphalt, defying its alleged firmness, to continue my walk to the recycling bins. I say goodbye and thank you to the weekly unused items – some packaging, mostly glass – on their way to a new phase and form of their life in this planet. Some day soon, we will no longer need to crash these thoughtfully elaborated pieces, and we will reuse and respect them all, the way my grandparents did. I dream.

This knowing makes space inside me again, and the volume of the forest soundless vibration resumes its melody on my chest. I allow the dark mantle to embrace me and it kindly carries me back home.