I go home. Walls are uneven in texture and in colour. Floors are mostly wooden, with some tiles here and there. Biggest windows open to the East and West, as it's a warm country. Kitchen is medium, a wooden table, fitting... maybe six. There MUST BE cupboards! I have a tendency to imagine all kinds of cute shelves and then... there is mess everywhere. Maybe there's "an upstairs", with 2 small bedrooms, maybe not. (There MUST BE wardrobes! Or the situation with the kitchen repeats. Built-in wardrobes, hidden in the depth of walls.) There might be a patch of grass in front of the door, and stony path, but a sidewalk of a small quiet street is just fine.
I walk. I look at stones. I buy vegetables. I make salads. I steam fish. I read books, not too challenging though.
Yes, I walk a lot! I cook slowly. I look around. I smile at people, to people, with people. I gather treasures. (They are appreciated. They are NOT clutter. There are SPECIAL PLACES for them - "Little altars".)
With time my brain decompresses, ideas start to arrive. For the pebbles, strings, paints... for words coming and going...
This is HOME.
People come and go. There is laughter. Sometimes raised voices, screams, tears. But mostly silence. There is... NO radio. NO tv. Music... will see about that... Probably yes, who could survive withour Bach or Purcell...?
Computer? YEEEES! On a small, cute, astonishingly comfortable table. Joined by an astonishingly comfortable chair.
But there are other places where I live.
There is the cold dark country, pulsating with love...
There is the busy, still misterious, apero country, with all the most simple and most beautiful joys...