Irrevocably, progress is here, in one way or another. I feel it and I handle it with a safe distance. Sort of keeping it at bay (literally, in this case…).
They are there, more or less hidden, waiting to been and discovered. Sometimes, just a rain or the sun hitting, they bloom.
A small house for a small man.
It was built with pieces from here and there just like his life: little episodes interconnected by his wake-ups of all mornings.
Not a fancy life, not a fancy house.
But, it was his house, helping him to get up every morning and live another little episode…
The exact moment when the day intersects with the night…
Oh! I would like to be there in these critical times.