Up the hill and then down again in more than just a couple of hours. Walking silently, not stopping for whatever purpose, trailing an existent path as mute in essence as the lines drawn up in the sky by punctual passing airplanes. No one in sight, not a single animal either, only trees and plants and rocks and dirt. Walking as if riding quickly the slowest of universes, almost flying it’s slow moving structures, all it’s secret life. Crossing it with the firm purpose of getting there. Some sweat, of course; some tiredness due to the constant effort. At witch point she asked: Where? And he turned back, still irrevocably silent, and opened his jacket to reveal the t-shirt he had intently printed for the occasion. She read, in some green-cyan shade: paradise lake establishment. And they continued.