I never write you a lettre. I only write you postcards, from real and unreal places in the world, scrawly words of a restless me. I am sure the first thing you do after you find another one in the post box is, to carry your big globe to the living room and check where I got stranded again. Sometimes you find me on a boat, or on a mountain. Sometimes I sit at the beach or deep inside a jungle. I am glad you are travelling with me, drawing the way with your finger. I know you love travelling as well, but never had the chance to do. That’s why I take you along the journey with my words. I am your explorer and thanks to you I am never alone in the jungle.
I stumbled over a picture yesterday. A picture that reminded me so much on the childhood we spent with you. I remember the days in summer, when you bundled us up in warm blankets after we romped in the little pool in your garden. Then you put us on top of carton and paper in a little trolley, surrounded by glass bottles and a picnic basket. True to the motto: business before pleasure, we headed to the bottle bank. Do you still remember the noise we made? All neighbours were following us with their eyes, either out of the window, or from the garden bench, and everybody was greeting and smiling, like people do in a little village.
We loved the noise of the breaking glass bottles, disposing carton is boring, but glass…
We figured certain techniques of how to make it louder and more jingling.
The picnic was great as well, and on the way back, people were staring again.
We called you “big horse” and “little donkey”, fed you with carrots to made you run faster to make us scream.
Now you are not running anymore. You follow me around the world with your finger. I enjoy every minute I spend with you, I am glad you are who you are and I am a bit afraid, cause your footsteps are huge. And I will always and ever want to be a granny as lovely as you one day! – You see, it only took a picture.