I've got one week in this house. Thus it is formally and explicitly open to visitors.
For over a year I live on the fifth floor that opens long windows on the landscape over the roofs of the city. Landscape-nunc to or h l e oc lt or to do-me terribly excited and that over time have become a mystical image, a reflection without a mirror, a metaphor for something not explain but which I identify. I suppose it's the full liberty and elusive world teeming believe possess the truth down there, the discovery of hidden society that is here inhabiting the single sky terraces or maybe just indescribable luxury I feel when I get the sun face and to prolong the time while down the street lamps are lit and everyone thinks it is night.
emerge Cathedral in the background. Sometimes I feel like an equal, other boat. Sometimes I give him good night. Also I have a habit of saying goodbye to the house to go out every morning. It and all the houses seem having understood me. Those that do not contemplate leaving me engrossed, and I close the door with surprise, resignation and great diplomacy.
This afternoon the sun pours through the window. I like this time when the sun is low and reaches the back of the room. I like to lie on the couch in this light as open and warm this winter radiation passing through it can not do anything about it and comes down hard on the fabric of my couch.
I call this little ritual "The cat nap."
And this name I have given is that it will help me today to bend it gently, put it in the bag without weight where I keep the pleasures found and lessons learned, and take it with me ... wherever you go.
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