Countless stone fragments, objects large and small, wander on the road with slabs of flesh, wrapped in skin. Does it matter to anyone whether the objects lie or move, or whether they do or don't wander around? Air does not perish, it never will, aeroplanes pierce the wind and fly away. Water quivers, old lines surrender in the hope of new ones being born; old or changing lines are dead, their memories touch the layer which covers our feelings. Invoking memories transforms places into new scenes, Braille letters metaphorically lead us to the conscious. This presentation draws on the sensitivity of expressing my surroundings and personal circumstances.