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Like leaves that falls slowly from the Branches,
Like the sea hugs the Shore, the Sound of Silent in the Moonlight Sky, the Noise of the Birds who wanted to touch the Sky.
The Splashing of the Waves,rushing down Under.
The Strum of Slow-Played Guitar, the Hot Tea with the most Calming Aroma, isn't Bad how those movements, the Creation, the Natural Gesture wants to Let go of it's Naturalsm?
That maybe One Day, One Fine Day, the Branches wouldn't care anymore....the Sea will let go easily, the Aroma will soon be just a Scent not for the Tea but for the Bee, isn't it possible?
when would that be?
When? When almost everything on it's daily routine reminds and needs them?
Why would a Small Turtle abandon his Home? Maybe for him to grow? or to Look for a better Home, what home would that be? will He call it a Home if he fits in? will he call it a Home if it gives him a warmth when the Wind touches him?
A home is not a home until you fit in, until you get along, until....