So it came. Finally. The dark, bold horizon arrived, fulfilling the firmament.

Lights from scattered thunders, there, here, revealing fleeting fragments of clouds. Then the water. Deep, once rising from the earth. And deep, now refusing the skies.

A bonding feeling. Being water for days long, to contemplate everything becoming water as well. Dissolving. With each drop flowing. Unbounding. Being. One.

With a small noise, he opened the door and was suddenly immersed in the cold, fresh air. He lifted his head to appreciate the sky yet untouched by the sun, receiving in return a gentle caress on the face from a passing breeze.

Then, silence. The first note of an unhurried melody, started somewhere, some time ago — a somewhat familiar song, despite the unknown author and the unknown source, reaching him with swelling waves.

His body rehearsed some steps as he risked another gaze at the — now even brighter — morning star.

One by one, the notes became rarer and deeper. With the bittersweet came the first sunshine, reminding him of the strawberries lying ahead, on the path that was finally being walked.

Inside an old cabin, an old man watched the brand-new fire voraciously devour the logs. The reddish-yellow light slowly climbed the walls, while the shadow of the old man slowly gained contour on the floor.