, , , , , , ,

I grew up in the middle of nature, playing with my best friend and his brother, learning everything about plants and animals, playing indians, running and laughing.

At night we were allowed to sleep outside. Fireflies were our lantern. We counted shooting stars. Milked the goat and drunk fresh milk. Ate homebaked bread with homemade pesto.

Sometimes I miss those days. But watch, I am here, I live in the same village, just a bit less far away, I still like to pretend I am a fairy or a gnome (but it doesn’t work anymore). Chicken cheep outside. My neighbours haven’t got any goats, but we still buy cheese from the nearest farmer. Every now and then I see a firefly, there are not many of them anymore. But I still count shooting stars and who sees the most of them wins, and I bake bread and make pesto. I hope I will still do all of this in ten years, and in twenty. I know I will.