#early spring

Cold March winds sweep the brick-walled avenues, where a single match transforms the winter clearing. Smoke rises like a genie into the purple dusk, thick with damp velvet moss and rotting sycamore leaves. Shed timber yields to the flame, releasing oily, pungent fumes as melting paraffin firelighters choke the evening chill.

Fierce crimson blades slice the twilight gloom. Birch bark curls away like charred parchment scrolls, and sparks shoot skyward, cascading into weeping willow branches. Suddenly, the bonfire gasps, spitting with a thunderous crackle. Twigs snap like brittle bones under a settling weight of ash, while distant, muffled laughter drifts over high garden walls.

Searing heat flushes your cheeks a deep, radiating crimson, even as the biting freeze of early spring stabs your spine. Warm, dark snow—soft as velvet soot—falls onto open palms. Carbon stings the mouth with a sharp, bitter bite, yet copper air dissolves into sweet, imaginary kingdoms. We stood as small kings ruled by logic-defying themes, the smoky taste of dragons forever lingering on the tongue.

Spring Crocus

Trier, Germany

april

“When I close my eyes, birdsong, scent of lilac in early spring, scent of summer roses.”