The furrowed brows relax from work and the evening stars saunter in the oceanic vastness, seeking for the prompt satisfied hospitality, while 'sørgelig Sommerfugl' swirl around us, tiptoeing on the way to a church, on ramshackle and gradually space limited wooden ways, to touch the final gold in København, for a short moment of calm, before the politics of the wind will catch us again and we find ourselves in a play repeating chimes of life. Let ourselves bed on Moroccan roses and put Benzoin resin on the puck made of coal, slightly nudge the boat and lets drift out of the haven.
