After hours of striving through remote areas there are signs of life. Sings of other human beings. In this dark and cold night with the rough terrain around the view of lighted windows sends a certain portion of hope, of warmth and comfort. A sign that there is a different world to live in. But it feels not right and it could not show more clearly that this is not our world. Not at the moment. The people behind those windows in their comfort zone – whatever they may do – are so close and yet could not be more far away. This hope, this warmth and this comfort is not ours. If they would open their windows they would not understand what we may try to explain. They do not open them anyway. And although we are so close to a connection to what is considered to be a normal life we feel like an unpleasant guest. A piece of a puzzle which is already complete. Our path winds in front of us and leads us back into this dark and misty chaos. Unseen we leave the village again. Leaving nothing but muddy prints on the tarmac. Soon those windows are faint light dots on the horizon.
Before they disappear at last.