Threehundred and sixty-five days and six hours

It's a path through the woods, sometimes covered by brambles; others, new grass. Something like the flashing rain that doesn´t wet but freezes the bones. Maybe some wind that helps a bird who is learning to fly. Or the soft sand from the beach when the skin is prone to be scratched.

It's a trail across the cliff, hearing the squawks of the seagulls and the roaring from the storm. Something like the time playing with the doubt because is more real. Maybe a wave sliding slowly over the next one. Or that loving glance from the one who is dreaming and also getting close to the stars.

It's a continued fork in the middle of the city. Something like a crowded street where you can do a perfect slalom. Maybe that coffee shop with kind employees and quiet music. Or that corner of freedom moving from one place to the next as soon as the balance arrives.

It's a track twisting in a mountain from the north, with that intense greenness breathtaking. Something like an adrenalin injection reserved in the fridge. Maybe that trip chewing its time for correct digestion. Or a complicit embrace when the silence arrives.

It's the sidewalk from a meadow coming to spring, with its colourful flowers and the sound of water flowing in a river. Something like a familiar voice that went lost and is scratching fiercely and gracefully to recover the throne. Maybe some incense to confuse the fog. Or a bonfire in the night to roast marshmallows.