It is late, and often, the late times bring the late thoughts.
There is a mystery on darkness, and the affect it has on us.
We fear it. We are attracted by it.
Ideas that comes only in these hours, is it the loneliness that they give us, is it this calm surrounding us.
The times are nostalgic, bringing envy for the future days to come. Adventures, never gone, always here and there, the way to East and back now, was. At every corner, every unknown face, that seem, somehow more familiar, somehow more unknown, the smells, and the tastes. The fresh salad from the home garden from the fields at the edge of the hometown. Or walking in the mud that gets in front of grandma’s porch.
How does fellows live, how are Tajudin, Jaakko, Clinton, Robbie, Kamarran, Vincent, Dlovan, Winston, Vlad, Lionel, Max, Yair, Noah, Fred, James, Jorge, Will, Alexis and your girl, Masoumeh, Foroz, Bahar, Daisuke, Misha, Mariam and Kote, the Toshkent team, the Tibetan nomad family, Seb, Cameron, , Kyle, Jef, Viv and Christina, Sebastian, all the fellows with whom paths crossed, in a train towards Istanbul, in the jungle of the bazar of Medan, a shisha Bar of Kabul, in front of the crowded temple of Dege, in the jumping bus towards west Mongolia… Brothers..
Days in Morocco have brought these feeling to life a little more. Barcelona too. Her tiny Mediterranean streets mazes full of poetry, calm, and good times. Zandra.
Doubts of course, hesitations, and questions rising again. Good ones.
Thoughts always, and in the dark of the night, they spin.
Again and again, they spin.