The first months of this year imploded rough and unforeseen, like a fruit tree which had taken its hairless branches for an interminable period. The climate was strangely favorable, allowing the unexpected production of some fruits. During those first few weeks he put the house up for sale and surprisingly a buyer appeared. They invited her to teach at the university, after so many months without paid work.
I felt the house had changed. He noticed the morning light better, the washed dishes glistening in the dish rack, the son’s laughter as someone else fell on the computer. Everything that previously seemed opaque to you, distant, has now appeared to you as new, an offer of times, of these times. As if the doors to a new world had opened. She was hungry again for beautiful and good things, the only things that would allow them to enter her home.
Even though melancholy was listening to her on time, the feeling of the wonder of knowing had opened up to her, and she intended to hold on to that feeling for as long as she could. He knew it was a vacation, it had happened in his life before; for this reason, he had no intention of letting go of the flow of things, clinging tightly to the emerging lifeline, who knows where, maybe within himself. It was not a question of making a flat board, the luggage accompanied him, but he decided to drag the bags, to make them float, attached to a rope, thus relieving the weight of the luggage.
A person is his own home, he thought. And the weight and the lightness of these words weighed. Your own home, the person. We should then take care of this house, keep it clean, tidy and ventilated. Clear and clean glass, allowing you to see and be seen through the exterior appearance and your own reflection. On moving day, he didn’t say goodbye to the walls he had left behind, as he always had with previous houses; it was no longer necessary. He painted and polished his shoes, and like a snail, he pulled his coat and his son’s coat tight.