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Notes08/09/2020
Caligari
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Caligari
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Full of nostalgia for times long past...
I am standing in the attic of the old barn of my grandparents' farm, which has long since been abandoned. Through the tiny sash bar window at the gable the light falls and illuminates the small room. In the corners hang cobwebs full of wood shavings that were caught there decades ago. The dust sails between the incoming rays. Evaporation from the old suitcases and chests, which have been stored there for as long as I can remember, is in the air. The smell of the parched wooden beams and the miserable and encrusted remains of the pitch of the ridge purlin mixes with them. I carefully put the old painting back on the floor, which I had previously kept. It will remain here. Only the memories I will take with me. I walk carefully down the steep wooden stairs to the hayloft and from there I continue over the old crooked ladder to the ground. The barn door creaks behind me. One last time I turn around to the place where I spent a wonderful time of my childhood and say goodbye forever... with tears in my eyes.
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