Somewhere before the Polish-Lithuanian border pine forest and young oats take turns in front of the window with long maize fields and wetlands, with small buildings and grazing cows. you were looking forward to these long rides. for you thought, you'd find time for all the unwritten, all the unread words. now, you can't free your eyes from the windowpane, with the scenery constantly changing, afraid to miss out on the details gone the next blink again – a brick church amidst shabby looking one-storey houses, a stork's nest, children on their way from school – already passed. Further down the road, in the middle of Lithuania By now the window lost some of its captivating power the landscape flat for hours, changing only in its details really while the land itself maintains its outline. beaches have by now replaced the pines. beaches framing more wetland inbetween the fields got bigger, the houses moved further apart. L.
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