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My grandma used to decorate everything! Her house was filled with table lamps and all sorts of trinkets. I do not know the provenance of the porcelain tiger that was placed on the arm of her oaken sofa, nor do I know the person who painted the figures on the China that stood still inside her curio cabinet for decades, the person who crafted the Danish armchair, or the crooked steps in the yard. To me, all those thing share a common origin, my grandma’s house.
I can’t remember the number of houses that taught me how you properly match the indoor light with the outdoor, but they all had a front on a street and a yard at the back. I know little about the country and nothing about the eastern tunes he whistled, but the builder’s craft was beautiful, and so I stripped the walls as many others did before me, for you to see these rocks and how once were placed.
Our things, we carry them in loads from one land to another, from dusty floors to new ones and passers-by glance at them through windows built alike many others.
Spare a gentle touch to the trees and the steel as the sun sets down the hill, it is when they are both lite the same.