Usojena smrt / Hukule Määratud / Destined To Be Dead

In a place where all tracks are gone and the fallen trees embrace the rubble, someone sits in the Indian summer’s crispy grass, and says peace unto himself. Things felt cannot be erased, but they fade into wisdom for the future. Maybe it is not earthly this road I have to walk, but how can I know if I am subjected to gravitation?