Memories hunted me last night. What’s with the insomnia!?
I was dreaming of a crisp evening, darkness casting shadows on medieval walls, some candles flickering in front of restaurants that I would visit years later, cobblestones getting slippery from the approaching cold. Someone was playing a flute down the staircase, in the basement music studio. I was rushing home from school and breathing in the memories that would stay with me forever.
And then there’s the winter house. The sun reflecting from the morning snow that has reached the windowpanes. The silence. Maybe there’s a hint of cinnamon in the air. Maybe I’m waiting for someone to serve me pancakes. But maybe I’m the one serving. I have a very nice car in the driveway and it warms up inside by the press of a remote button.
I’m on the island and my house has a grass roof. At least on the part that’s not covered with solar panels. It’s summer solstice and the friends are about to arrive from the city. I’m cooling the wines, he’s working in the shade on this laptop. It’s a hot summer day and we’re on a holiday.
Welcome to the material world.