The year has seasons and months

The year has seasons and months that are renewed with constant diversity. All things here continue with fixed and renewed features, with clear landmarks and standards, with a deep concept far from superficiality and fragility.

 No matter how dark the sky was and rained, and the thunder screamed and roared, and the clouds clouded and became black and dark, and the lightning waved and shone, and the winds blew, and the weather changed and varied in temperature and cold, the features of nature did not change. Likewise, things here will not change. It is not a possibility or imagination, but rather a certainty and confirmation.
That dove in the refuge flew away, but came back and landed in a can in its landing. To drink, to dance, to listen, to play. To feel the whisper of a whisper. The heat of the feelings flares up with the feeling of the pulse with the pulse of the heart. The fingertips touch the spark of electricity of the pulse. It was translated, written, engraved, and drawn. An epic that will not be repeated, and no one will be able to erase it to history. An unforgettable, indistinguishable memory. It acts as an honest witness to history, a pen that analyzes, records, and documents