Often when I sit by a campfire I can hear sounds from two worlds. Our human world. Traffic, humans, machines. Sounds that feel out of place. Then there's the other world. The old world. The world that was here before us. World so old it's almost impossible to understand. I can hear birds, something crawling in the grass near by and the wood burning. I can smell that the winter is coming. I can see all the colours of the autumn. All that feels like it's part of me.

Sometimes I can feel torn between these two worlds. I don't know where I belong. I don't know where I should be. Maybe they don't have to be separate worlds. Maybe there's just a wardrobe in between them.

An old factory building
An old shed

Staring into the imaginary Eden. Seasons changing, people waiting through the darkness for the same old morning. Why no beauty in our everlasting moment?

Cemetery in autumn

Sometimes there's too much to think. Too little to see. Noway to flee.