Festival

A warm wind turns the pages of spring - it's not summer yet, but it's no longer the past. The hat flies off somewhere into the sky, as if it too had decided to escape from seriousness, and along with it, the remnants of old grudges and unsent messages. Everything around is a bit awkward, careless, like the first kiss after a fight: it feels clumsy, but that's what life is all about. The sounds flow softly, like the rain that has just ended - and now the streets are glistening, and the air smells of a chance to start all over again. There's no drama here, just a quiet acknowledgment that time passes, people change, but the meeting will still happen. Even if it's on the corner of the same city where they once laughed under a sudden April rain.