Yellow me

Well, there are paint cans in the backpack, especially

yellows and primers,

Which is why it feels a bit bumpy on the back,

leaning against the white stone plastered wall.

Bumps belong in life, cannot be bothered to take it off.

The sound of seagulls, the warmth of the sun that

caresses your face

the gentle blow swirls the strands of hair on the forehead,

they take thoughts away from the bumps.

I am freer than those birds of heaven

in the clear blue sky,

I thought with a smile as I sat against the wall of the cathedral, 

on a break on the way home

from the art shop.

“I happen to be here today – tomorrow

somewhere else. I keep wandering,

and when I find a nice place,

I pitch my tent and play the harmonica. ” 

– Snufkin from the Moomins

Minna Pietarinen

Sinako

Stories about life.