Genoveva

We sit by the crackling campfire. Smoke rises. Your amber eyes, kisses that taste like cinnamon. Above us, the eternal night sky...

Enter a quiet room. Scent of dark wood and dried meadow flowers. A vague silhouette hands me mint tea, I breathe in peace.

Golden light filters through velvet curtains. A creaking leather armchair. At my feet, the child listens to the evening story...

Black sky. White birch trunks. Time rustles in the crowns. The birds are silent. Among moss and herbs, I await the morning.

Azure blue shimmer in the morning dew, glass wings tremble, already they carry the delicate dragonfly body closer to the awakening light...