Å·±¦ÓéÀÖ

“Colori no ²õ¾±±ôê²Ô³¦¾±´Ç o teu aroma em fios de novelo a me guiar na ±ð²õ³¦³Ü°ù¾±»åã´Ç de volta ao lar.”
― Filipe Russo, Caro Jovem Adulto

“There were no furnishings and no decorations-- except the wall on the opposite side had a small alcove, and in the alcove was a bronze statue of a bird, green with age. I thought it might be a sparrow, but it was so corroded that I couldn't tell for sure.
I wondered if it might be the statue of a Lar.
In this room--like the first hallway-- the air smelled of summer. But there was no half-heard laughter on the air, no sense that space was subtly wrong, nor that invisible eyes were watching. There was only the warm, peaceful stillness that exists between one summer breeze and the next. A trickle of water ran down the wall on my left and pooled before the alcove; I drew a breath, and my lungs filled with the mineral scent of water over warm rock.
Without thinking, I sat down and leaned back against the wall. It was not smooth; the stones formed hard, uneven ripples behind my back-- yet the tension ran out of my body. I stared at the bronze sparrow, and I did not entirely fall asleep, but I almost dreamt: my mind was full of summer breezes, the warm, wet smell of earth after summer rain, the delight of running barefoot through damp grass and finding the hidden tangle of strawberries.”
― Rosamund Hodge, Cruel Beauty