100nonu page
I an ant in a heather. Or the bird who has lost the way in a universe. Far from the ground. And nevertheless a dyne so it is close, that I feel her 100nonu breath on a forehead. She stands as a pillar, widely having placed foots and having extended forward hands. From hands something falls. Angry sings metal, having hit about a stone. I never shall forget this song. Then, when to me will seem, that there has stepped silence, the heather will begin to move. I shall hear 100nonu his dry rustle. The boots of the Dyne covered by a skirt, slowly will recede back. Also 100nonu will disappear from that circle that happens. In a circle there will be I. And the person. He lays in a heather, and his head is covered by red foam. Foam moves, creeps. Further, more widely. Around of all of us becomes red. Around of him and me. And she leaves from us. And to us her to not achieve. She has abandoned the limits outlined by her skirt. I not an ant and not a bird.