Nostalgia is a slant of sunlight on the wall that stirs up unseen landscapes in silences where everyone is inclined to sing a song from their past. A glance, another: now’s the moment to sing of loss and sun on a bouquet of red and green paper tulips. They can’t replace summer, but will wither just like daises in late August rain.
The minstrel blows a flute. He’s heading toward the Renaissance, but can't make up his mind where to stop. A group follow, some clap, some tango. A woman holding up her long dress dances old-fashioned steps. A girl dressed in Gothic style, knee-high boots, a shining pendant, picks a tulip, puts it in her hair.
Laughter in the kitchen, crackling fire, lively conversation, one more sky, one more—nostalgia has a life of its own—a chorus of whispers, the high-pitched sounds of a flute, the bells of grazing cows.
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