Like the dream I have repeatedly

I've missed you and have been all the time wondering where you were and what you were doing. I think after all it is not impossible.

I heard them all talking about the future, about a sign, but all the time I was thinking "don't go away, we are sad and lost without you, though we have forgotten nothing, and the world is still green and bright and painful."

Head says leave it be, reluctantly, but heart say there are things to pass between us, different things, a singular making.

Sunny hills, the forest murmuring, clouds occasionally. I was walking south. After a while, I would turn east, then northwest again, and back to the house, which was my home, temporarily. The day was so bright and clear, so uncompromisingly present, it was impossible to believe anything else beside the immediate, the endless present, mattered at all. And lost track of time, somewhere fare to the southwest.

Over hills, through forests, around lakes, along rivers, for 12 days stopping to more or less only to sleep, once in a small tent, once in the loft of an abandoned bar, avoiding towns that were "too large," eating what I found in the wild, in the farmyards, at small country stores.

Has anyone been by, looking this or that way, appearing lost, struck with something awful, or frightening, or overwhelming?

In Portugal, she followed a song, Fado, she learned later, a smoky music born of sadness, the deep spiritual sadness of existence, someone told her. For some time, she watched the woman singing, a kind of magic nonetheless. In Spain, she was besieged by museums and galleries...

The house is so quiet, I am asleep there, always. Like the dream I have had repeatedly, which features an apartment block, one half clean, modern, bright, the other ramshackle, with wooden floors, brown stained doors and frames, everything slightly uneven. I live on that side all the time, I think, but see myself often enough in either side.