´Wind winds up water'

    It is the wind who's singing; an old man, the wind. An air of despair and consumption which lead us all into sickness and death. It is the water who's listening; a happy being, the water, though aged and wise. She's dancing, she's merry, being the wind her own companion. While she is dancing we're dying.

And they just don't care. Do they even notice? No, they don't. They haven't seen us yet. And when they will do it, they will just say: 'who are those babies? Who had them? Was the Earth pregnant once and we didn't notice? Who cares, they died young, they didn't have time to build a bound with us.' For that's our fate. To appear and disappear as easily and unnouticeable as we once came. And yes, it is the wind who's singing, and yes, it is the water who's listening and then dancing; ' cause they are just so happy in their way that they don't need us to be entertained. Let them flow. All we can do is to aspire to flow in their very same direction some day. We are nothing but clay...