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Every trip to me is stepping through mining fields. She pulled out of flying readiness with two hundred horses, three hundred wheels. Storks, chickpeas, hay, granaries and stone walls give a sign of not stopping at all, even under my feet to make money. The sun ticked unilaterally - sometimes lazy, then canonically. I'm on a higher span - not to fall and fall. Every trip is time, dropped by the Lord for a reward. The given will not be taken - neither for Heaven, nor for Hell. And now I do not lie, when I write - I'm way out of the Way and I'm learning to be glad to breathe - of the human and God's case.