Certainly, it’s difficult for others to know for sure what is going through our heads. Sometimes we try to explain ourselves, to feel a connection with the other person, but despite the effort, everything falls on deaf ears. In her case that day, she chose the option of avoiding her thoughts, that state where there is no wear and tear, or effort to try to make others understand us. Efforts would be among considerations beyond our depth.

A cool air played with her web-like softness hair, caressing her shoulders and the nape of her neck. That part, the nape of her neck, the main stimulus for her thought. On that afternoon in the autumn of the year, where clouds hung oppressively low, the heat of the eggs was present. It was a warm sweetness stretched out in her lap…she could almost feel her going through the basket. It was very recently that she had collected them in the nest. The afternoon was cool, the only heat radiating from the basket and from her very being. She had tried to herd the chickens, but they were unruly, they had their temper, and it was crazy and a real challenge to regroup them. Still, she liked to watch as they chewed through the fresh grass and scratched up the dirt in search of worms. How could these little birds contain so much gesture of arrogance?

Dusk was falling, light was running out. Back home, she decided to rest a bit on the stone seat, it was cold and that caused a shiver to run through her body.

The terrain was the same, but everything had changed a lot. She was glad that some structures had remained standing, at least to give animals a roof.

She didn't like changes, nor big news. Over time, she had become a person of habit.

That day her choice was abstraction, introspection... in truth, she didn't have the strength to make her day-to-day to be understood, if she didn't even understand it herself. She did not let go of the basket at any time, as if it were her precious talisman that protected her.

On her shoulders, on her neck... she felt the breathing of the fresh air and also an enormous heaviness. That weight, that worry that clearly stunned her, came undoubtfully from the old house. That decayed building was the cause of her dreariness of thought.

A rural house that once was new and beautiful, as everything is at the beginning. When we meet something for the first time, we feel that it is magnificent, fresh and ingenious... then deterioration comes, without mercy, without pity. Abuse and neglect. The house, once a home, now ruins, was falling by itself but it didn't do it in silence. Even portions of masonry had fallen, displaying in a sad spectacle.

The cracks made noises, the wind moaned, like a singular voice, running fast and eager through holes and cracks. The crumbling walls spoke of better days. Shutters were falling or just banging furiously. Noises had the power of affecting her.

Noticing those things, she listened. She was not impervious to the moment, nor to the noises.

She would like to sit on the portal of the house and listen, saying to herself: -"What do you want, what do you want from me?”-.

She felt like closing her eyes and using her ears to understand the groans, the creaks of the singular battlements, which had undoubtedly defended that home, that property and the livelihood of the family. Do those who defended on the battlements moan? Are they still prisoners there in their pain? With their wounds or fear?

-"I'd like to sit and listen"- the woman said to herself.

She liked silence very much, silence was wiser, broken only by the wind and the creaks of inexorable decay, of irredeemable gloom.

-"I would like to stop time; I would just like to feel and not to gaze"-.

There were no words out of place that afternoon, no distractions. There was only the groan of that forgotten house as the sunset of life, in confrontation with the warmth of the heat in the eggs, in her hands. The origin of life. The beginning and the end.

She was static in front of the extremes.

-"I would like to just feel. I would like to just think and spend those moments in silence". Quiet and resting, the fall of the afternoon surprised her. Without speaking she began the return.

No sooner had those moans were left behind than the shades of the evening drew on.