a fleeting ripple

The sun sets differently in northern countries than in the Mediterranean. In north, it takes its time, setting slowly, giving enough time to turn the skies in magnificent shades of purple, red and orange. Light reflects off the clouds, the whole atmosphere becomes rose tinted. In the Mediterranean, it is unexpected and it seems like there is never enough time to sit down and watch it. The afternoon passes lazily, but the sun sets all at once. There for one moment, gone the ne

The conversations nearest to you come clean through the whispers of the songs in your earphones. They’re catching up after the summer. During louder songs, every conversation turns into a whisper, lost in the beats of the drums. It’s good to be back in a bustling cafe, the bikes buzzing past and the faintest of breezes coming through the windows. The leather couches worn and peeling, the wooden chairs moulded around the shape of a butt through countless people sitting on them

The silence right before the dawn is intoxicating, even the cicadas have stopped. Not a single sound is audible, not a single soul is visible. A car waits in front of the garden gate, which squeaks open but doesn’t initiate a response from the wilderness. Doors slam, windows roll down and the motor roars to life. Headlights illuminate the road that curves out of the village and snakes through the forest, climbing up the mountain. Lines of the road glow, the signs appear from