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Hot. Through the window in the distance, colorful air-conditioned microwave ovens speed across a blistering black rope.
I open the wardrobe confidently and dive inside.
Tranquility.
Simple melodies like a fresh breeze on the face, perfumed with green and blue.
They smell of innocence, simplicity, childhood, white linen dresses. They smell of the fresh vegetable soup my mother made, my dog's gaze, of ring-around-the-rosy and smiling nursery rhymes.
Tranquility.
Guitar and vocal enchantment.
It takes very little to make peace with oneself and the world. A little infinity like an unrepeatable moment.
Meanwhile, now far away, the colorful air-conditioned microwave ovens continue their race.
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