Many years gone before I visited the country where I spent my childhood.
Flat landscape with green grass and many horses, some of them huge
and belonged to an occupying army. A river cut the landscape in half and
wooden bridges. It is tricky to remember infancy because it often appears
like a dream; and the grass were always green like winter didn´t exist.
Soldiers I remember were always kind, yet looked like misplaced elements
pining to go home were they belonged. A dusty road crooked around
the country side in disregard of what was the easiest way, and had many
gates it was my job to jump off the cart and open them up for the farmer.
The landscape I revisited was not as I remembered it there were no horses
to make the landscape attractive; the river was gone, those I spoke to could
not recall it ever having been one. Asphalted roads and a village had sprung
up it even had petrol pump that sold cigarettes, soft drinks and sweets.
And I cannot know whether my youth was a wish or if I was born a dreamy
adult. The gate to my past is forever closed a mystery unsolved.
