This acoustic journey starts in the yellowish twilight of an autumn backyard. The bird is flying low towards the eye of the eternal storm in search of its name. Seaweeds and sunken ships are reflected In the blue-green eye of the bird. Still-lives with women's faces follow. The bird is now just a sparrow drinking sun from the puddles. We hear the long women's talk, their lips are dry; only the moisture in the eyes remains, until 4.30 in the morning. Our ships dream of happiness on the seabed, but we leave again to touch the roofs of a village devastated by the plague, to meet our long-lost sun and to sit beside an old man on the market square. Finally we stop at the old well and hear the roar of a distant battle in its dry throat. A battle eternal and omnipresent as life itself.