(Real) Estate

I sometimes go off to my country home, where the pace is slow and every moment deep. There, the world becomes small and vivid, in which one follows birds in their rustle or hears crickets list their griefs. Without looking, you could feel the sun slant upon your toes, or the air hold your face. The aloneness brings me to sit with my own demons, like in that violet hour when desolation and lucidity meet. It is true what they say about rest, too about allowing, revelations and peace. You realise I am not talking about travelling, that (by God) I own no holiday house of any kind… at least not outside of me.

3 comments

  1. you in each text travels the paths that lead reason to heart and heart to soul. within each text there is a house where dreams and reality dwell, each occupying its place and dawning and dimming in the uncertain hours of life.

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    1. And that house is often inside of us. Thank you, again. Always appreciate your comments.

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      1. I think that the house is always inside us, we are that we leave much of our house and sometimes we forget to return. I like your texts, it makes me feel at home.

        Liked by 1 person

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