Nordhofen Westerwald (Rheinland-Pfalz, Germany)
The house across the street stands empty. I noticed that immediately, right after we arrived. The shutters on the windows are drawn down, except for one. They haven't been moved since. The front door never opens and no one ever knocks on it. The postman never stops there, nor does anyone else.
An old woman lived there alone until the end. She died two years ago. It's been empty ever since. Our landlady told us that. Branches climb up the wall facing the street and cover one of the windows. There is life in the dense leaves. Birds shoot out and in. And when you don't see them, you hear them.
One day I discover a green woodpecker landing on the roof. It seems out of place, as if it had lost its way. As if a tropical paradise were its real home. The way it stands there, with its green feathers and black-red head. It's large, impossible to miss really, and yet this is the first time I've spotted such a bird here.
I see the house every day when I look out the window, every morning when I stand on the terrace and fill my body with fresh air, and whenever we walk past it. It is present and something about it draws me in. I always pause for a moment. It's as if it wants to tell me something.
It's not the only uninhabited house in this place, but this one is special, it touches me. I can't say exactly why, perhaps it reminds me of my grandparents' house, where I spent the first five years of my life. It awakens the memory of a home I lost long ago.
Just as my grandparents' house is slowly decaying because it's uninhabited – has become uninhabitable through its long abandonment – I see the same fate in this one too. I look with longing at this building that no longer holds any life. The memory of a long-lived past is often stronger than the vision of a new future. I'm stuck in this memory and this house shows me that.
The house across the street stands empty. I noticed that immediately, right after we arrived. The shutters on the windows are drawn down, except for one. They haven't been moved since. The front door never opens and no one ever knocks on it. The postman never stops there, nor does anyone else.
An old woman lived there alone until the end. She died two years ago. It's been empty ever since. Our landlady told us that. Branches climb up the wall facing the street and cover one of the windows. There is life in the dense leaves. Birds shoot out and in. And when you don't see them, you hear them.
One day I discover a green woodpecker landing on the roof. It seems out of place, as if it had lost its way. As if a tropical paradise were its real home. The way it stands there, with its green feathers and black-red head. It's large, impossible to miss really, and yet this is the first time I've spotted such a bird here.
I see the house every day when I look out the window, every morning when I stand on the terrace and fill my body with fresh air, and whenever we walk past it. It is present and something about it draws me in. I always pause for a moment. It's as if it wants to tell me something.
It's not the only uninhabited house in this place, but this one is special, it touches me. I can't say exactly why, perhaps it reminds me of my grandparents' house, where I spent the first five years of my life. It awakens the memory of a home I lost long ago.
Just as my grandparents' house is slowly decaying because it's uninhabited – has become uninhabitable through its long abandonment – I see the same fate in this one too. I look with longing at this building that no longer holds any life. The memory of a long-lived past is often stronger than the vision of a new future. I'm stuck in this memory and this house shows me that.