Walking very slowly, for trees are never in a rush, originally uploaded by Thorsten Becker. New dawn, at the end of a blue light night and stars bright white. Slowly rise in the east days of splendor warm and green, where first rain falls on soft new leaves, where winter’s sleep is gently washed away …
Far away there, originally uploaded by Thorsten Becker. I do not want to be, no I cannot be silent about that which is not here, yet, that which is no there, yet, but that which is far away there, out in the distance, drawing ever closer, step by step, beat by beat. Not by our …
The silence heralds Charon’s imminent arrival, originally uploaded by Thorsten Becker. That which was fading has now come to pass. The last winter light, ash and livid, floats across the waters, above bare trees, watching for the passing of the season of white and slumber. New light breaks across the sky. Familiar silhouettes begin to …
Waiting for spring, originally uploaded by Thorsten Becker. Spring, I await you Like a sparrow on a branch Waits for seeds dropping © Thorsten Becker One of our many “pets”. We have been providing a constant supply of bird seeds throughout this fairly harsh winter via a small bird feeder attached to our living room …
Abenteuer einer kleinen Maus, originally uploaded by Thorsten Becker. Abenteuer einer kleinen Maus — Adventures of a little mouse was the title of a story I wrote back in high school. It was a writing assignment by our German teacher, I believe in 7th grade. We received a general outline (a mouse and a cat …
“Unicorn” whispers a butterfly passing by, originally uploaded by Thorsten Becker. Walking under the setting sun, a stroll into the mists of the passing day. Last light breaking through the branches of twisted trees along the path, the wind plays with the dust under my feet. I look over green pastures framed by wooden fences. …
Now we are shells, originally uploaded by Thorsten Becker. We’re moving, but not by our own design Shuffling towards the finish line It’s illusive, shifting, tilting There, on the shores of plenty We desire, we want, we need Yet we do not understand Nor do we seem to realize That we lost ourselves, our lives …
