Weight shifts back and forth and somehow the ship does not sink.

“That’s because I have big-ass tanks underneath. You just can’t see them. Whenever there is a shift in weight distribution, I just fill these up. With anything, really. Water, coffee, beer, wine. Love and affection, or much more. Just don’t let hate flow into those, it’s a false balance.

I am the tanker of tranquility.

These days I am sailing through rough waters. My propeller keeps going round and round, and with it, I refill, empty, unload and reload my tanks. All the sustenance that is needed I already carry. Sometimes I get a little help from a barkeeper or people close to me. They can refill your tank as well.

So be sure to have a port that you can call your base. It’s rough out there.”

April is sad, April is mad. April is undecided, April is divided.

Rain and snow, sunshine and my first sunburn. Many things can happen within one day in the month of May. My fingers are freezing off while my neck is burnt.

While I am glad to be standing behind the burner of my food stall, I see humans suffer the consequences of a divided April. Complaints and suffering are the answer.

The acceptance of being torn is driven out of your mind by another gust of wind.

I am divided, I support teaching a lesson, but at what cost? My fingers are freezing!

As I lie in my hammock of thoughts, I watch my toes wiggling back and forth. Tiny sausages, caressed by the wind.

I, as well, do feel like a tiny sausage in the wind sometimes. A meaty pillar, mighty in the belief that I can withstand the breeze. Weak in the actual capability to withstand it.

So I lie in the hammock, accepting the wind. Letting myself fall into its mercy. I am but a lonely sausage grilled in the sun, swinging and falling asleep.

The might of nature can be peaceful, if we accept its power.

I am a small sausage in the wind, with even smaller sausages dangling around.

Joghurt is my lover for I am juicy and sweet.

Ever since I was a young berry, I had posters of all the famous Joghurt bands hanging on my wall. I was madly in love with them. Greek vanilla, Skyr metal, Quark Waltz Revenue. They only played the absolute bangers, so creamy and soft, just ideal to be serenaded by.

When I was graduating from berry college, I didn’t know what I would like to be, so I joined the hordes of the berry Salvation Army. Who do we save, you ask? Well, mostly yourself, the consumer. We serve a variety of nutritional purposes and we do it well. Swift death.

So I kind of forgot about this Joghurt business.

However one day, I was lurking out of my plastic container. I saw all of them, Very Berry Rock Cream, Thessaloniki Fever and Quarkini dip and the Boys.

It was truly magical. They even had special effects, a cold breeze clouding them in mystery, turning my juicy interiors upside down. I was madly in love again. Oh how much I could give to just once touch the cream.

“You know, the consumer sometimes pairs us up with these creamy bands. We serve as the juice pop!”

So you see, my dear consumer in whose shopping basket I am now. Please, fulfil my dreams, pop my berry and put me in the cream.

Winter had scarred us, cold and harsh conditions made us seem like ghostlike creatures. Away from the sun, lit up only by the fire that we light.

I am ready for loading up on the rays of this continuously exploding ball of gas in the sky.

I linger around, waiting for the shine to light me up. I am almost invisible to take naked eye, translucent and not recognisable by everyone that knows my appearance in summer.

So here I stand, looking into the clouds, looking out for my dangerous friend in the sky.

Come light me up.