Today I painted a house. My sons house. Taking down the wood around the windows. Making sure it is well done. Well done to sustain the windy autumn and winters. Autumn and winter when rain comes down almost horizontally. Hammering against the windows and the trim boards.
The soothing strikes of the paint brush against the wood. Before and after are clear, simple. Protecting the wood against the forces of nature. Forces to reclaim, reclaim the wood. For now, and many years to come a shelter for my son. I cannot save him from his inner demons. But I can shelter him from the forces of nature.
Nature that we love so much. Offers recreation and keeps the demons away for a while. Walking the forest to pick mushrooms and watching the wild life. The birds, nightingale singing its lovely tune. The hawk screaming and fighting with the seagull trying to steal its eggs. Go out with the boat, just sitting there.
Painting, gently back and forth. Like I stroke my sons hair when he was a child trying to sleep, soothing. A layer of protection against everything that wears down. Around the windows always white. White as the gentle snow. Snow that muffles the noise. Painting a house, my sons house.
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