With a wand, or three
I stride through the woods.
Notebook in my hand
And a ring on my finger
Turning the time
With a thought...
still in my pyjamas.
Rolling the dice
as if the snake could get me.
Reading in the empty book,
Letters appearing for a moment,
Bookmark ready,
just to keep them.
An owl howling at
an empty bag.
„What happened here?“,
I ask myself.
Closing my arms around seven and a half books and falling back to sleep.