Accompanied by my own shadow, I ramble through the old park
Desperate trees painted with a charcoal by unknown artist
Broken lines on shaggy grey canvas...
There's something decadent in the air filled with the scent of damp leaves
My lens catches the gleam of a dying sun
In a drop of dew on a rotten stump
Existential solitude, I bid you welcome
Step onto the warm carpet of moss
And let's engross in liberation of shamanic dance...
Who cares?!...