Home. Breath out. Home.

I turned the car on the village square yesterday night in the pouring rain. Everybody in the car was sleeping. It rained too hard to get out of the car. A summer storm. The windscreen wipers doing overtime in front of me. And I just sat there and looked at the flashes of the village I saw between the wipes. The forrest against the hill. All those thousands of different colors of green. The river flowing around all those thousands of rocks that take a different place every day. The house of Francoise. The house of cat woman. The tiny post office. The defibrillator flashing red light. That means the internet connection is down, like every time it rains or storms. The dead flowers around the square. Nobody waters them regularly. The parking space where the baker blows his horn in the morning. Hurry up people, I give you five minutes! I love this place. I love it more than I remembered. I feel I’ve never left. I have dreamt this place. It is out of this world. Nothing changed. I have been away for two months and nothing has changed. My life just fits in perfectly again, seamless. Like it just waited for me to breath in and out again and wait for the baker in the morning and recognize all those thousands colors of green and know which rock lies where and greet cat woman and get out of the car and feel the warm summer rain tapping on my hair and on my skin and make me soaking wet in just ten seconds. Welcome home.

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