Things that go well.
The pleasure of walking evokes a curious wandering around the peaks and depressions of my memories, and always in those interior landscapes of all things phenomenal, you come to mind.
With every step I take, my thoughts reach out to clumsily embrace the fundamental flow of my thoroughly cannibalized conscience. Caught in the grip of temptation and rippling with promiscuity, I begin to throw and catch stones, until an inclination intent on wonderment forces me to reconsider only those things that go well, and in so doing , I become absorbed in the moisture and softly vanishing shadows of melting snow.