No more trips around this continent…they are now in a barrel with wine…red wine. All of them were supposed to bring me something; they were supposed to be filled with immortal memories. But the memories I wanted to keep got lost in the summer air; they are floating like wish flowers do when it’s windy…my last summer breeze…my last memories of summer here will be gone after winter, because fall will be intense. And then spring will come…and it’s time to go home. Fall will be ending there, and will be winter again. Then my winter memories will bring me hope…and tears. My last winter memories…snow…ice…people going...people coming. Flames from and old fireplace, smoke from cigarettes, red wines…and they will be gone before spring starts. And the memories I really wanted to keep, still not a memory…still not shaped as anything. Maybe they were not meant to be my memories…maybe the view, once breathtaking, is the meaning of my lack of words…it was supposed to happen only one time. The others will be the others, but that will be an eternal memory for someone said as forgotten.