A tender breeze in the warm evening light. Small groups have colonised the park. Like marmots. Sitting, chatting, turning their heads to check what is happening around them. Turning their heads like don’t believing what’s happening around them. Laughs, music, mumbling. Life has changed, has dressed up. Shapes become visible. Everything is blossoming. Cherry, chestnut, people, even me. Life is back. The end seems far away. Seems it never has been as far away as on this floating evening in May.
For more than half a century, I have been expanding
by moving homes
by trying to understand people‘s behaviour
by learning English
by chatting with the world
Will there ever be a turning point? From expansion to contraction. From moving on to moving back. How would that feel? Like coming home after a beautiful journey? Or like being arrested after years of escaping?
Am I running? Or am I on the run?