I had some family staying with me over the week-end, and today I drove them back to the airport to catch their plane. Being at the airport, or on the platform of a railway station on such occasions brings up conflicting emotions in me. Of course, there are the farewells and the sadness of the separation (luckily it will not be too long in that instance). But when you look around you, there is also all the bustle of annoyingly tanned people in summer clothes, coming back from holidays in the sun, the calling of exotic destinations on loudspeakers, the planes taking off for their journey across the oceans; more than enough to send you dreaming of different skies, faraway places, and all that discovering you could be doing. The French have a saying: "partir, c'est mourir un peu" (to leave is to die a little). But to me, being left behind is the worse fate.
Talking about painful separations, the Christmas tree has finally found its resting place on the common. It obviously did not want to leave, because it left about half its needles on the floor as I tried to force it through the doors of the house. In the end though, its resistance was of no avail, and it is there now at the top of a heap, probably cursing my ingratitude. So many partings...
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