Time! on Whose arbitrary wing
The Varying hours must flag or fly,
Whose tardy winter, fleeting spring,
But drag or drive us on to die…
Often you’ll find a note on the door of people who expect someone to call on them, or may be not, while they are not at home for the time being.
Or perhaps no note at all, simply because they are afraid that in this case it would suggest some kind of abuse to the evil ones.
Sometimes, however, in the absence of such a memo there are other cues of their non-presence – not particularly so intended.
That my neighbours the Hérings from Paris, who live fifty yards further on the little village road, have now been absent for months may be read from the sign language around their house.
We few more or less intimate neighbours know that they do not arrive here as regularly because of her mother who is dying in the metropolis.
See how these sky-high hollyhocks with their improbably large and impressive, gorgeously dark-purple flowers are barring the door for both ill-meaning strangers as well as for the Hérings themselves if they might come along yet.
The full icon of their absence – perhaps her absence over here, and this forever.
Also a lukewarm welcome for any intruder, who must however be wary of the sporadic attentiveness of that stray neighbor in our by now almost depopulated little village.
Sierksma, La Roche 6.6 / 2016