Captive of the routines, encircled with iron bars of habits, – Cocoons of tightly woven threads, – the spirit rebels. The “ghost in the machine” groans, raising its hands upward, To escape from the imperatives; Algorithms, imprinted from the time of Homo erectus, And Chimps, Identical ceremonies and schedules, – Automatisms, clothes in the garments…

Bent studiously with encyclopedic intensity over x’s and y’s, And such, Unaware of time squandered, The yearnings inside; coiled springs, And the sunsets she does not witness? The lovely places she does not visit? The intimacies she does not share? And the whispers of the heart she does not pause to listen? Fulfillments postponed, “Do…

The intimacy of the landscape, the slow tempo, the fragrant breezes, the tides’ ebb and flow, – a tick-tock in the rhythm of life-; feed an instinct in us: yearning for the sea. Now the ambience envelops you like a cocoon, separating you from the quick pace you have left behind. You are now free…