The smoke rises into the trees blurring the sight of Madar for a bit till the new sun laughs and dispels it like a dream.
What do the trees wish to say as they play with the breeze? Madar knows... knows what we do not, but wisely keeps his counsel.
Like the sun my fervent wish is that our hearts fill with warmth and empathy, that the blue sky swallows all that hurts and injures people because we keep meeting and I say to you...