You know, one thing that happens when you stop looking at your tiny mass surveillance device all the time is that you watch the rain fall on the windshield again and listen to the drops and the thunder.
Life becomes vivid again.
You can sit in that ambience and plan your next move.
You can build a plan you actually want to carry out and see through the end.
You look at the green-edged yellow house and wonder if the windows are special to someone who lives or lived there. Another death has occurred in that house, and it makes me sad.
I didn’t know her much at all, but her passing brings me to Melancholia.
And I’m in, inside the house beyond the windows. There’s a man sitting there with a yellow shirt, stained with what looks to be soup. There are old porcelain dolls on the TV stand. One is plastic, I believe.
The man is more a boy, his two brothers are dead, and now too, his mother. He’s aware of it, there seems to be a faint glint of a tear in his eye when he is asked about her.
My mother hands him half a cookie, he indulges, and I understand how his niece devotes a substantial portion of her time to care for her uncle, like she did for his brothers, and her grandmother.
Through this sad ordeal I learn that some people just have a kindness and patience to their heart.
Hector, live long…