The house had its place in the old, hidden garden. There it had stood for a long, long time, surrounded by huge trees. Surrounded by two rivers meeting. Birds made their nest under the dry roof grass, deers passed, wondering about its serenity.
The little girl was playing hide and seek with the little boy. She had walked further and further into the woods, and now she couldn't hear the boys cries anymore. She was all alone, dragged further on by some secret force. All of a sudden the trees bent to make space for her, and she found herself in an open clearing.
Smiling first, then laughing, she ran to the house. Did anyone live here? Could she come in? She walked around the house a couple of times, saw no one.
The blue and white curtains were drawn. The door was closed.
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I found this garden and this little house yesterday. I am spending three days at a meeting, a couple of hours north of Trondheim, far out in the countryside. During lunch I looked out the window and saw the secret garden, still grey after a long winter, with promising spots and corners everywhere. Two rivers met at the end of the garden, a couple of cranes were resting, unaffected by ash clouds they were on their way north to the land of summer light, a deer was grassing.
I was hooked right away, ate my dessert in a hurry and walked out to be given the atmosphere of the garden. The little girl came running, her white dress dirty from hours of playing in the forest, one of her braids loose, red cheeks, sparkling eyes. She didn't see me, my camera didn't see her, only my heart saw. The story came and now it will not leave.
Slowly I walked back to the yellow house. To the meeting. My mind elsewhere.
There is something about old houses. I meet them everywhere. Some days their stories should be gathered.
Like two rivers meeting.
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Airports in Europe are open today, but a new ash cloud is on its way. Last night I was so optimistic - on Thursday I will be flying to Bologna, then train down to Florence, then bus out to my monastery. Today I don't know.
What I do know though is that the coming two weeks has something waiting for me. The curtains are drawn, the door is closed....still. I wonder what I will find behind when the curtains are drawn, when the right key is given me to open the door.
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Thank you for your concern about my travel. Calls, emails, sms, comments. It warms my heart.
