Where do you start? With the first step, out of home, out of comfort, out on your own feet with the people, in the wave — can you be carried over?
Is there the feeling in your heart, of uncertainty, of freedom, of a wild vagabond, the fumes of an incense stick. Don’t you see, the millions of possibilities, the crossing over of fate, coincidences, the life that abounds you. There is no limit, don’t put a limit, the world will swallow everything.
What’s in the bag? Do you care? A rickety bus was what you dared. The journey near the window, day and night swept across — the rain, the wind, the smell of gasoline and smoke, and finally of green grass. The stories of your neighbours, the songs of the bus. The cramps in your feet, the pain in your neck, this must come to an end.
The mountains rise up now, there is something new behind each one of them. The clouds, the sun and mountains, what a show they put up.
One journey ends, another begins.