It is difficult to remember only the images that were already in my head. Inevitably, a lot of things are going to be fantasized about now.  I have never thought of your landscape in such concrete terms.
It's quite remarkable and logical that all my images are built around a couple of coat hooks: the few photos I got from you. 
I begin with your bedroom. 
You sleep in an old solid wood bed. Your sheets are white. I see the truss of the roof so you must be sleeping in the attic. Yet I see white old walls. Behind the paint is a thick natural stone or loam-like exterior wall that keeps the heat out in the summer. Whether you have windows in your bedroom, I don't see. If you had them, they would be small. Actually, I'm thinking mostly about the roof trusses. From the crossbeams hang the tobacco leaves to dry that you told me about. 
The living space is small and dark, the wood stove is the focal point. Around the stove are deep and soft seats with sheepskin blankets. Perhaps there are rugs on the floor. Again, the windows are small. The rest of the house I haven't quite imagined yet. Usually I imagine the hills and the woods, and the paths and the villages. In my imagination, the house is not visible when standing on the street. Wild plants isolate the house from the general view of the land. The enclosure of the house, makes the house look even older. It is not unkempt. The house has long found its place in the landscape and it is only doing what is expected of it: ensuring safety, security, homecoming. The house does not pretend to be anything other than what it is, she willingly allows herself to be vegetated. 
Along the street side an old collapsed wall runs like a, rather symbolic, line along the domain. You can get to the house in two ways. The gate and the path leading to the front door have not been used in years. The gate is open, why should it be closed? The path is densely overgrown with climbing plants and weeds. Who would ever enter by the front door? And why? Because everyone goes past the larger gate in the wall a little further on. This gate is also always open. In a large curve, you walk around the property to then pass by the back of the house. Along two tire tracks that run through the grass towards the kitchen door are old tools under the fruit trees waiting for a second life. In winter the kitchen door is kept strictly shut, in summer it is open almost day and night. In front of the kitchen window of the small cool kitchen is an open area where around the daily activities take place? There is a table with chairs in the grass and I see a small old greenhouse that is almost ready for use again. Its life was hanging by a thread, almost would have had to spend its last days as a storage facility. Now in the spring, among the old stuff, seeds are germinating. Slowly, spring is making its return known. It won't be long before the blue sky is accompanied by the fresh green of the leaves on the trees and the soft pastel shades of the blossoms. It can already be wonderfully warm during the day. At night, the sky is open. In the morning, the landscape dresses out of its elegant garb of mist. It is time to sweep the remnants of winter from the yard for good. 

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