We travel to a village where some 25 years ago my wife used to spend her summers. Her grandpa, Angel, lived in the house across this one. “Here dwelled a boy with blue eyes. He looked after two white horses,” remembers my wife. The only way to enter is to walk on some boards across a gaping hole. Across the vacuum of space. I get the feeling one is always walking. Until we walk out to never return. What is left are memories, drops of water in the form of a house which still stands bowed down in front of the alter of time. Keeping my balance I feel my way inside. What will this abandoned life reveal?

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