Enough words I catch. I can not make logical sentences of it alone, let alone give an answer. Yes, my socks are wet. No, I do not have cold feet. And no, I certainly do not want you to wash them for me. I’m embarrassed, but as long as the rain comes out of the sky and I’m dry here, I put my discomfort away and stay where I am.
The conversation is about me, but I am no longer involved. “She does not understand” I catch. As if they realize that I understand something, they start talking faster and softer. It is not meant to be wrong. We simply do not understand each other, even if we understand each other.
The rain, the clouds, I do not feel like it today. Fortunately I am stranded in a small paradise. In the middle of green forest mountains in a narrow valley with a small river I stay in an eco-selo, an eco village in Ziličina. These are the best places.
Home-grown and local products that are processed in the kitchen of the restaurant into delicious traditional dishes. All buildings are made of wood, the terrain has been created with great care. Everything feels friendly. That the communication is a bit stiff, is well made by the environment.
The electricity has fallen out, but the kitchen is not bothered by it. Nobody seems to be really worried about the lack of electricity. That a few hours later the current is just as sudden as it disappeared, nobody seems surprised. What may be the most surprising to me is that the TV is switched on immediately upon the return of electricity. It does not fit here.
Although, again. I do not think it fits, but that is the image I have. An image that is perhaps somewhat romanticized. I think it’s wonderful that the mothers and even grandmothers are in the kitchen and proudly come to share their pastries (kolac) and other delicacies with me. In my romanticized image there is no room for TV or Social Media, but I am also very old-fashioned. More retrospective than the mothers and the grandmothers in the kitchen.
I have planned to take two writing days a week. There are stories that come to me in the tent and I shoot in the moment without difficulty (typ), but there are also stories where I have to take the rest and time. Articles, but also trail-note-like blogs require more attention. A different kind of attention. What I have overlooked a little bit about this intention is that these writing days are not really relaxing days. Physically speaking, but mentally I am tired after almost a week of searching. Finding a route in the rain and fog makes it even more tired.
While the rain keeps ringing and the TV continuously clatter, I try to concentrate on my book. I just want to read. I want me to write, but I can not. To worry about that, I can do, but I do not feel like it. So I read.
Eva is sleeping, a book book that I drag, because I wanted to read it so much. Now I read it and now it drags me along. I do not want it to stop.
As clever as a writer, writer in this case, you can suck in a story like that. That the words and sentences, each and every one, are a pleasure to read. That makes me so happy. Then I come to rest. Rest and rest.
I use the rain as an excuse to remain seated. With my book curled up on the couch, I give a “do not disturb” signal. I can hear it, but I’m not there.
