Sommernacht

On a summer night I read a story by Kafka.

At some point I closed the book, took my camera and went outside.

The streets were still warm from the day. I walked without a goal, following the thoughts of the story, until I turned into a quiet lane.

You stood in the light for a moment, as if you had escaped from a story. Before I could say anything, you walked on.

When I looked at the picture later, the lane was almost empty.

And yet I had the feeling that something had stayed there.