sanama

Grandmother-like force kicks off the morning. Thinking of ”Perfect Days” by Wim Wenders, as I observe the light flowing through the church windows. Someone comes in to practice an organ piece. It sounds like steaming bubbles.

The church fills up oscillatingly with a gentle sound. Repetitions. They are thoughts that need polishing. The bubbles burst. Honking from outside gets mixed in the music, the bustle of a tram offers the piece ambient layers.