All the doors were closed. She was laying down in pink coffin. The Sun was spreading the dimmed light through the dancing leaves to the song of the passing wind. She was laying with her head covered with snow. There was no one who could wipe it off from her transparent face. Around the coffin was empty space. All the people from the village has already passed to eternity. She was the last. With no wander of love, with no wander of man, she stayed last fifteen years alone. She lived close to the stream, and not too far from the forest. Her neighbors house was fifty meters from the last tree that belonged to her. Now everything looked condemned. Everything looked like falling to awaited sleep. The first snowflakes were dancing in the reddish sky. Clouds were spreading their arms through the emptiness of sky. Only dog was barking and few birds singing. Above the coffin there was a single snapshot of light. Almost nothing. But suddenly the point illuminated with colors. The coffin turned around few times and disappeared in the dot that remained over the ground where seconds ago stood coffin. Dog was still barking. The birds remained singing. There was no other motion any more in the village where houses and barns could fall asleep and rest in undisturbed peace.

Through the layers of skin you can sea the see. It is floating in the motions of repetitive rhythm. On the edge it stops and look through the clouds to see the moon. It backs while you sleep. Thousands of moves. Ballet of purity.