The morning walk confronted the step
with an unusual rhythm
that passed on the contrary
of that what was imprinted
as a shock.
The pace became the spirit
that enfolded its flight
with the wings it offered.
Thoughts disappeared,
the breath whispered:
'It is what unites us,
It is what inhabits us,
Ignore to hold onto time,
Avoid counting the days,
Put an end to relying on money,
Be granted with love.
In each opposition
resides its equivalent.
True Sight
remains invisible
without its might.
Pictured during a morning walk.
A sacrifice of spirit?
Or...?
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