En gång slockna alla stjärnor, men de lysa alltid utan skräck.

I feel like I’m standing inside one of those globes with snow inside you can shake up to make it fall. The ground is flat but the sky seems to be poking out from it with the sureness of a pregnant belly, and the stars are crowning the whole sky like the intensest of freckles.

We are doing the last bits of preparations, decoration and planning for Drumfest. Apparently all of our cabins and even camping spots are fully booked. The sound equipment from England has arrived , and so has the sound engineers. The big tent is up and the stages are ready to be rigged. The weather has been perfect, cold in the evening and pleasantly hot in the day. No storms forecasted for the next couple of days at least. The artists has slowly begun to drop in and this simple and slightly forgotten campsite on the Romanian country side are suddenly becoming a place buzzing of anticipation.

When me and Marta are walking up to our tent, the Milky Way is so clear we just stop in the middle of a sentence to watch it. You just don’t get skies like this in Sweden (where we live at least). And It’s like the beauty of it slips past my vocabulary and goes straight in instead. The stars feel no need to be defined, neither described, by me, but still, it pains me to not be able to paint you the picture. It’s like the world is on hold. In this space, in this place and time and I feel like nothing outside his hillside can touch me, nothing means anything except this now.


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