Leleka

A strange aftertaste of loss remains in my memory - as if childhood existed, but there are no paths leading to it anymore. Everything has been washed away by water, the banks have been rewritten, cities have grown. In place of meadows and bonfires, there is now the noise of the dam, the glare of asphalt and neat streets.

And yet, above this concrete tranquillity, a bird flies from warmer climes, cutting through the sky as if searching for familiar trees. Nature is not angry, it is only surprised: how can the face of the earth change so quickly?

The music does not express melancholy for the sake of tears, but a quiet request. For the stork to carry it away again to a place where memories still smell of grass, not concrete.