The image is cheap. Yet, cheap or not, it consoles me still.
5
I stayed until very late yesterday at Snagov, until everything was finished; the parquet varnished, the windows cleaned, the locks put in the doors. I waited until the people had left one by one and remained alone in the doorway, the last one left.
It is the house I dreamed of. A house built for sunlight. Evenings, its shadow falls across the water, like the shadow of a plant.
Ghiţă Blidaru passed without speaking through every room. We stopped on the terrace, where the September morning spread into the distance, beyond the lake, white in the declining autumn light, as though exhausted by its own splendour.
I was happy that he said nothing to me and I understood from his silence that he felt at home.
It’s a pleasure to build and it’s an even greater joy to say farewell to what you have built.
We will forget each other, my white house in Snagov, you to receive the sun each day through your wide windows, me to put up other walls, just as likely to be forgotten.
Look, this is where our paths separate: you are what I have always dreamed of being — simple, clean and calm, your heart accepting of the coming of every season.