. . . out of print
For one week I am responsible for my parent’s home and garden. I look after the plants and the dog, I do familiar tasks and still I feel I have become a stranger to this place. How much unfamiliarity does my perception of home allow, I ask myself, knowing that I take all changes in myself as granted. I begin to understand that these cracks in my recognition reflect the passing of time and will trigger memories. The rediscovery of thoughts nearly lost makes me doubt that home can be a place of the present.
»I am a beholder. If I return to this place, I am not surprised not to be recognized.«