by Octavian Balea
There is a time when people meet eachother in one place to sit down and speak about things they don't usualy do. Small people, big people, colourfull personalities, foggy faces, they all sit around the same table and start speaking about how life would be if they could raize more often their fingers in the air to check out the direction from which the danger comes.
But they have to invent their language. And they listen. They listen to the water and the wind.
And they invent instruments. Musical instruments. Musical blowing instruments.
And they have a language. The wind is their language.
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