She comes down slowly.
She swings and floats through the early morning mist that wraps the beechwood.
She touches the first leaf, then down straight, through and through, getting stuck, weighting down. Branches and blue fruits, ants and cuckoo’s nests raise around it.
First crackling, many and heavy, then thin and few and silent.
As she slithers through the first sun rays, thousands and thousands of ears, noses and eyes, ears, noses and eyes, their amygdala enslaves them for the silver beast that joins them mighty.

She stops on the ground. From her body, a thin silver rope begins to move again, upwards.
This time it twists, it shakes, animated by the unpredictable unknown.
Danger. Danger. Danger. Danger. Danger.
Fight or flight, fight or flight, fight or flight, the forest is paralysed.
Fight or flight, fight or flight, fight or flight, the forest is paralysed.

The rope disappears above the beeches. Her two feet stand in a red circle, she just sprayed on the grass. She pulls out a notebook from her chest pocket and draws a point on its last page.
And then she moves.

And so she does. The sun and the moon spin between her feet and her head faster and faster, spinning as fast as a hoola-hoop, spinning as fast as a spinning top, as fast as a million flickering lightnings yellow and blue, yellow and blue, over and over and over, it’s so dark and it’s so bright stroboscopically and her steps keep sucking the grass up in front of her and sometimes next to her, the shadow of a house blips into existence, sometimes it appears a person with a very, very frightened look, and sometimes it’s a person that looks like the other person before but it’s eating a banana with a fork and it disappears while turning his head slowly towards her, and at the same time appears a dog urinating on the statue of a third person that looks like the first two persons but it’s all colourful and masculine and holds a marble banana like a sword, and she keeps walking through this discotheque that throws matter everywhere around, shadows of lookalikes repeat and repeat, repeat and repeat, they pop and burst in and out of existence in the thousands for every blink of her eyes. The landscape is a multitude of matter chaotically swirling in every direction but somehow she’s calm as if she doesn’t care, flipping through the pages of her notebook, throwing pieces of paper around, discarding mistakes and wrong sentences.

And then the whirlwind of things and beings loses its energetic drive,slows down by itself and the figure is alone.

She stops.