Chuck, chuck, chuck…  called the landscape of our childhood. And we approached that wild chicken coop. It offered us a roe deer that observed us, a green woodpecker that was blending with the background and several gardeners that gave us courgettes and onions. And then came the low fog of winter mornings, and the frost. The water flowed through the gutters, and we ate loquats from the tree, fresh and free of charge. And we could not leave. Because we wanted to be part of that landscape, without making noise, with our eyes open and the joyful spirit.

And at the table of our chicken coop, we make shaky drawings on recycled paper while listening to the music of our lives. We drink coffee sitting on the bench on the threshing floor dressed in colourful clothes. And we like it when it rains and is cold, because afterwards the sun shines even brighter. We watch the seasons and life go by through the window while we know that this little paradise is just a lucky fragment of the broken mirror of life.

And we change our gaze; we become small as we admire the powerful bursts of the woodpecker’s flight, the light leaps of the roe deer and the simple nobility of these gardeners, who previously looked after the vegetable garden and the chickens and today also look after us.