Calm, fresh night.
Light rain.
Crisp air.
The snow is melting, but the ground is dry.
Old and new buildings, side by side.
What have we learned?
I breathe in, the air is so clean.
Happy? Sad?
Neither, but content.
Step, step.
I walk to, or from home.
Always an uphill journey.
A figure walks in the distance.
Headed off to their place.
To, or from home?
Logs.
Logs are wood.
Iron can be turned into steel.
Paper, is sliced tree.
I don't know why I feel,
or why I should.
But right now I have to pee.
Today I dress,
tomorrow I rest,
and the day after that just a little bit less.
For some reason the season,
within itself seems to be free,
and away from me.
I fight yet have no right,
the world which I was forced into,
for it is not mine.
Maybe.
Maybe it is the opposite,
with right to fight against,
for oneself in another's world.
But fight what? And how?
I don't know but I dislike,
so many things unworthy in sight.
And who's world? God's?
He made it but it belongs to