Now everything is deliberately delayed as it should be.

My sister of the wind brings me the renewed hope typical of dawn.

Happy, something awaits in her womb, filling the weight of time with sweet uncertainties.

The child grows blue.

He will pour his innocence into the eager souls who long for his face.

Today, the little crown of the miracle weaves and unweaves its fate.

The Mother who paints with her hands so many distant myths overflows with joy in her clear eyes.

The silent words burst into the air, singing prayers.

Everything is filled with Gods.