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At The Train Station

It’s been three years since I last set foot in a train station. I, the nomad, have taken root. Naturally curious, I enjoy studying the characters that inhabit certain public places. Y et here, nothing has really changed: though the faces are different, I recognize them all. . * * * Sitting on a large duffel bag, leaning against a wall—there’s the student. He mutters to himself, eyes fixed on a thick blue binder, and despite all the noise filling the station, nothing could tear him away at this hour from his studies. A little further off, I spot a family waiting to greet one of their relatives. The father and mother chat together, glancing every five minutes at the clock. The children play, dart between their legs, circle around them, tap each other shouting, “Tag!” then burst into laughter; they bring into this hall the fresh, colorful breeze of youth. The father looks impatient, but on his face I can read a certain joy; he seems to be holding back a smile. As for the mother, however...
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A Pile Of Stones

 

Ruined house - Photo de Sueda Gln: https://www.pexels.com/fr-fr/photo/bois-paysage-nature-building-28106301/

The children leave first; the work is less demanding in the city and much better paid. Here, whether you are a shepherd or a farmer, the days are long, and there is a strong desire to experience everything that is sorely lacking in the area: multiplex cinemas, nightclubs, and so on.

One day, one of the parents dies, and the eldest son takes the elderly surviving spouse with him. A few years later, the latter dies in turn, and the parents' house finds itself in shared ownership.

At first, they visit the house a little during the holidays to get together with family, but soon there is work to be done. It needs to be restored, but no one wants to put their hand in their wallet. Besides, they don't have time for all that; there is work, children…

So there are quarrels. They don't see each other anymore. They abandon the house.

The wind carries away some slates. Rain and leaves seep in, rotting floors and beams. One after the other, the levels collapse. In this soil, plants grow: ivy loosens the stones of the walls, and then shrubs become trees whose branches grow back and collapse the walls.

And one day, of the family house where so many generations lived, nothing remains but a pile of stones scattered around immense oaks...



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