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scarecrow `s dynamic

gandurile pierdute in norii ca fasii de panza alba, inceputa, adunau minutele ultimei ore ale zilei toride si puteau apune si ele in cuvinte, putine, dar inca nespuse vreodata, asta dupa mintea unei pasari oprita din zbor si in memoria peisajului incremenit, aproape stins din culori pierdute in nuatele triste ale serii intrupata in orizont..
sau poate ca mana obosita, penelul subtiat, ochiul aspru si gandurile, altele, de peste zi, intunecau tabloul, poate pretul unui negustor, poate foamea unui poet si poate parfumul diminetii intr.un nas fin, intr.o lume Grenouille, de bazar..
dimineata deschidea in picaturile de roua intreaga noaptea, mai putin apusul, intr.o zi curata, mai putin rasaritul.. ele, cre·pus·cule, dusk and down, culori pastrate pentru o alta panza sau pentru alte pagini sau pentru alte dansuri, octave si timp..
singurul sens, singurul arc, singurul chip.. the scarecrow, a light, an angel and a daemon, the son of the wind and the lord of the landscape under the whole univers stareing at the game, puzzle, board..

gandurile pierdute din nori, in unghiuri ascutite ca de soim, incercau sa inteleaga marea pana in adancurile ei cele mari, pana la pestii de sub valurile ca o panza alba, inceputa, pana la ceilalti pesti de sub pesti, pana la culorile stinse in nuantele triste ale adancurilor, pana la scarecrow, a light, an angel and a daemon.. un manunchi de viata, o idee, un chip, o intamplare..

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