Like a pathway in autumn: hardly has it been swept clean, it is covered again with dry leaves.


Wie ein Weg im Herbst: Kaum ist er reingekehrt, bedeckt er sich wieder mit den trockenen Blättern.

“My life consists of this subterranean threat. If it stops, I’ll stop too. It’s my way of taking part in life. If it stops, I’ll give up living as easily and naturally as a dying man closes his eyes.”
Franz Kafka