Alice in the woods

I took a quiet tea of wonder as I rush to the end of the day and some liquid flowers were spread among the leaves as if the water could have me inside, like a root or something. It is so easy to melt the time during these silent moments. One would say that the desert had arrived next to us, and that the cup of tea was the sun itself, the skin like sand, the savour of ginger in the lips, the long distance as a mirror in the eyes. It's not easy to turn back to the centre of life, but I insisted - that was just a moment of tea in a towel made of a cloths that stands next to the one we use in dreams - and I came across my poor life, where I can have no more than the senses that remind me of the senses and instants I once though to have lived and so I'm in the mood for loving these world made of leaves and words and tea cups, as if I were Alice in the woods.