The Field

There are moments in life when everything seems transparent - like a puddle after rain, reflecting the sky and a little bit of your face. Nothing special seems to be happening, just a meeting at the edge of a field or a glance through the darkness, but there is something fragile hanging in the air, like breath on glass.

Every movement is on the verge of sleep: laughter, footsteps on wet grass, water leaving traces that immediately dry up. It's all like an attempt to catch a reflection - always slightly delayed, but still alive. Time dissolves, leaving only two silhouettes that still reach for each other, even when one is already disappearing into the rain.