ere long

The engine roars steadily. Hot air blows in my neck; outside it is snowing. Winter has come to us.
Thoughts wander in my dreamlands, softly they lead me to abstract places of sorrow and comfort. It almost feels as if after every sentence I need to take a deep breath. Wait. Pause. Move on.
As I look outside the window the landscape hardly ever changes, rushing by in dim light, in a swirl of white and gray. Shadows are cast over the scenery, night is coming. Inside of myself I feel like sinking into a spellbound moor, forsaking the world of the living for the sullen realm of the weak. Caving in to the beckoning falcons of dreamland, changing sceneries within seconds, casting the monotonous roaring of the camper into the wild. Later I find myself in my home, she is playing the piano to the ticking of a metronom, as the snow falls steadily, steadily on our home.
The air has carried my birds down south. Ere long, ere long the sun will come.