Celebrating the middle age crysis at the cabin by the lake.
The cabin of the wild stone, fireplace, smell of burned woods
 and a light sound of the waves.
Nobody is around, only me and silence.
Looking at the fire.
White wine is so tart, strawberries are sweet.
Wine is spilling, life is spilling, lake is a big gray waving space.
Why am I here, all alone, in the middle of nowhere. Where will I go next.
 Who will go with me. No answer, just warmth of the fire and a gray great
waving space...

February 2006