Literary escapades

How come the stories written decades ago came to haunt us in real life? They used to be just that - stories, someone's reality interspersed with figments of imagination. They lured and frightened at the same time, shocked and disturbed. But being a mix of the reality and fiction it created a safe distance. There was never any serious danger to be completely immersed in its intricate web, not being able to break free. It was fascinating and exhilarating to stand on the edge and look down at the abyss all the way knowing you will never fall.  Simpler days... When the world came suddenly crashing down one afternoon the mind was to busy processing the damage of an ongoing drama, questioning the survival itself.  The sequence of days and hours running on parallel lines, braking the framework of what used to be a familiar reality.  How could have they known what was about to happen years into the future? How was it possible to soak up all the pain to draw the pic...

Preparing for winter is like slowing down before the final dive into a long dark tunnel.  Daytime is receding, northern wind is squeezing away the warmth of sunny hours, it's getting quieter. Taking the last look at the surroundings, breathing in the fresh air, looking at the sky of incredibly deep blue, memorizing the scenery, quietly flipping the pages of passing days is all you can do. One last step and unavoidable tunnel is swallowing all colors and sounds, it's getting darker and darker along the way. You are tempted to close your eyes and hold your breath in a desperate attempt to avoid feeling the bleakness of graying surroundings. All the energy is centered on moving in search for the light that must be somewhere ahead, who knows how long from now or even if. Darkness, wind and an illusive hope of another life cycle that is worth trying to overcome another day, week, month... And when exhausted by the constant blindfolded motion with shades and sounds blurred i...