there was dark inside, when we came here for the first time, and calm.
the houses in the mountains used to have small windows for the warm
to not escape. here it was the same. but when you yearn for the sun,
you need to change something. honor and change. the dark corners
have disappeared and the attic has opened up to the sky.
the antique beams were covered with white, the floors were made
of pale sandstone. the darkness has disappeared, the calmness stayed.
there are no doubts that somebody was here and renewed the house.
saved the wooden roofs, the beamed ceiling, filled the cellar with wine,
changed the barns into a winter garden and a summer bedroom, the small
backyard into a big yard, made a fire in the fireplace and stove, fill the pond
and let the flowers grow.
through windows of the outside door the old ally with the new,
the house with the garden. you notice the surfaces and shapes,
brushstrokes, spade’s grooves and how the wood scent.
the house, behind small windows, unexpectedly spacious inside,
that you will raise your head, shake it and let it fall and fall asleep
house full of visions, how to have a breakfast in the grass or on the terrace,
when is not raining, in the barn by the fireplace, when gets colder, how to let the day
flow and bathe in between plants, between the morning sun and the evening
fireflies, how to watch the valley with a book, music, or in silence, how to dine
underneath the trees, in between the herbs, enjoy the bar and a coffee by george,
how to peek over the chef’s shoulder, how to fall asleep under the stars, to be
the garden closed by a wall and disclosed by a wooden fences, through
which the red deers are peeking in and the herbs from the surrounding
meadows are smelling nice and the pond’s water is fizzing. full of places
and corners. spring surprises, hot shadows, autumn tranquility, nostalgia
for the summer and for the winter sun. a garden, which somebody nurtures,