Extreme September

In the airspace, a still life made up of baskets, vases, flowers rose in weightlessness. It's all filled with generous gifts for the invisible host. Desks of desks, they are in the air, keeping the shadows falling. This condition is the lack of soil under my feet for a long time and firmly settled in my works. I don't feel a foothold, I'm on a quicky ground. What's left for me? Only fly, giving the world everything there is in me.

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