The rain stopped falling when he stands up from his bed to go out, in his balcony where he meets some rays that come right trough the delicate clouds. There in front of him is the beginning of a new day. In front of him a white dove fly high, followed by another one; only this had a different colour. He would like to follow them, but he becomes aware that he has another path, and should follow that. He goes back into his room and he begins to write about a world, a world witch is hard to putt in words, because it’s a world that doesn’t use words to communicate, a world beyond the words. He writes about a boy who saw birds and feels like flying without wings.