Here I come...

The start is always mystical. The end is ever unknown. Between the two lies the forces that connect the mystical with the unknown.

I see outside my window. A few leaves flutter from their twigs on the tree. Are they trying to hold on or to set themselves free? The dust rises, slowly gathering momentum. Bits of paper try to make their way on the dusty street. The clouds seem to juxtapose their position in a battle to hide the sun - the mighty - in the effort, losing a bit of itself.

The motion has been set in.

Here I come.