Those who are dead, are not dead
They’re just living in my head.
I saw two chairs yesterday. Two parched, brown and old fashioned chairs. They were left outside a bistro. And just for a brisk moment I had the feeling of using the time machine. And going back in the past.
My grandparents’ courtyard. My grandpa and I are sitting on the porch, waiting for grandma to come to lunch. It is summer and the weather is terribly hot. Which is why grandpa decides to go in the house after lunch. I am invited, too. But I have to refuse, no matter how nice and chilly the bedroom is. I ought to stay outside. Grandma never sleeps around noon, and moreover I must inspect the fruit trees and see if I find another colorful dragonfly in the vineyard.
Grandma was amused. She saw me going to the poultry yard to check if the poultry laid eggs.
Grandpa’s chair was outside, in the sun. I looked at it while I was sitting under the pear tree. Once green, now the chair had an indefinite color. It was small and old and I never knew why grandpa kept it.
Now I do.