Last Year slipped from my hands as a cut flower which accomodates to her last chances. Without sunny spaces between her leaves, just enough time to survive, enough space to float, enough air to make some possible answers possible. That was.
My next one begins tomorrow, and it brings a different sound, more earth and more ground, for the flowers, for my mind, for songs nice to meet alongside, there is space, there will be.
AMIN
