A sensation of lightness but at the same time of inconsistent heaviness in observing an infinite space such as the sky. The flakes of poplars fly like the thoughts that haunt us in these weeks. We are forced to face and clash with ourselves during isolation. We entrust to the sky, and some to a god, our doubts, our uncertainties, our questions.

They fly like the swallows that bring a surreal spring, come to announce that we will no longer be the same. And upon their arrival, after more than a month waiting by our windows, we are pervaded by a sense of acceptance of our individual and human condition.