“ The wind, which settles only now and then, since it is always on its way from somewhere to somewhere else, and never constantly in one place, carries in gusts, refreshing or not refreshing, smells and sometimes a cloud of butterflies or dragonflies, but sometimes, too, a flock of blackbirds—and when it has gone again, everything in the garden, everything that can move and has been touched by it, still moves for a long time. This mysterious sentence might appear in a death notice or in an obituary. ‘The wind,’ that is: someone’s life.
— Sunken Red - Jeroen Brouwers (via lastchatwithphontaine)
