In the eight apartments in our house, three are now inhabited. The school is closed, and so is the shop, church, parish council, dispatchers’ point, open air stage, quarry, sand and gravel mine, along with the bus stop. There is also a lake and storm clouds, and forty cemeteries for four hundred living souls. Greenhouses, sheds, cats, cucumbers, cows, vodkas, grandmas and berries… I’ve long since been elsewhere, but still show up here regularly, wandering along the only street, forming connections with places and things, with mist and water, with the morning light. In the hope of rediscovering childhood smells and sounds, I’ve got to leave an impression, I’ve got to become part of the landscape, which doesn’t let go of me even when I’m away.