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There, where there are no tracks anymore and the fallen trees embrace the rubble, someone sits; in the Indian summer’s crispy grass, and says peace unto himself. Things felt can not be erased, but they fade into wisdom for the future. Maybe it is not earthly this road i have to walk, but how can i know if i am subjected to gravitation. |
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The Source of the Mountains
The Baby Birds of Norman McLaren
The Loner
Let Us Keep a Dog
Where Is The Limit?
Fast Film
The Dream of an Old Oak
Oedipus
Infinite Blue
Une visite au musée
SNIP
For A Fistful of Toffees
Le printemps
Fortunio
Tigre
A Tale of Longing
Éclosion
Masques
A Family That Steals Dogs
Lost moon (Ghost World 3)
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