The shore line was gray,

on the banks of the Nordic sea,

waves rolling heavy,

bringing me scents of the sea.

Gray stone in my hand,

cold, small, insignificant,

awoke memories from my past,

memories that will always last.

It was the time when my dreams flew away,

or maybe my illusions,

in the life full of confusions,

reality took over mercilessly,

suddenly a new path opened full of turbulence.

I was to unknowns flying,

leaving my old life behind,

like a wild bird in the sky,

further and further,

asking myself, why?

Tatjana Webster, St Petersburg, 2018