It’s a small stream of pure mountain water. It winds gently, freely, and effortlessly down the mountain and crosses the road here. One could easily step over it – it’s only half a stride wide. But if you listen closely, it’s an invitation to pause. Nature does not strive. It doesn’t need to. It simply happens. The water babbles along, dividing further within the limestone into smaller streams. White limestone. When lifted: light, angular, and yet smoothly soft. And wet. When stepped on, it crunches slightly – like when two generous pieces of chalk are gently rubbed together. It’s still early, no one is around. It’s just me alone. The sun is announcing itself. Sparkling. Good thing there’s also a glass at hand. One more sip of water. The hiking boots fit well and softly. “Resume” and the headphones back on: Mozart, Piano Concerto No. 27 in B-Flat Major, Op. 17, third movement, Allegro; Semantic Dissociation