I am lying on cool marble when a feeling invades the internet induced numbness of several months. From the open window I can see the sun peaking from behind the moving leaves of the peach tree. I am home. A wasp sits on the window mesh. Tailor bird’s familiar repetitive song, a water-hen moving about cautiously in the undergrowth. I am home. I want to go outside though. I’ll come back someday, but I want to go out and see the world.
Later, watching the sunset, I play the guitar and they smile. I’ve been playing happy songs lately, an occasional relative minor touching the mild melancholy, essential to evening, my evening.
Did you watch the setting sun, before the war? Did you feel your ‘being’ quiet down, did you smile happily, but with a beautiful tinge of sadness, before the war? Did you feel at home, before the war?