96 till one.


Tor Gunar passed to the endless tunes of his bird song. There is no more voice who can teach you few practical things around the house and squeeze your sensitivity into the juice of perceptive observation and constant contemplation of nature. I sit outside the house and try to grasp the ray of his absence by the presence of the spring birds song. He is around walking with his dogs towards the light that brightened in his chest.

It rains outside.

Loki sleeps 80% of her life time.

People behave miserable.

Life is still beautiful in this stormy weather.