B. Werth

Wing beats (1’54“)

I could hardly wait for the days to finally grow again. In the dusk I was counting the minutes until the night was falling onto the city. One evening I heard a crowing. There they were, innumerable black shadows against the deepening blue. Wing beats, hundreds, thousands. Light and grand in their flight. Wild and cheerful their cavorting in the sky. Only later I understood that the migration of the birds brought the light and not the darkness. Because every day the birds arrived a little moment later and thus pushed away a tiny shadow from my life.

(Photo: Werth)





		BABETTE WERTH
	Wing beats (1’54“) I could hardly wait for the days to finally grow again. In the dusk I was counting the minutes until the night was falling onto the city. One evening I heard a crowing. There they were, innumerable black shadows against the deepening blue. Wing beats, hundreds, thousands. Light and grand in their flight. Wild and cheerful their cavorting in the sky. Only later I understood that the migration of the birds brought the light and not the darkness. Because every day the birds arrived a little moment later and thus pushed away a tiny shadow from my life. (Photo: Werth)