This was the house I called home. I spent hours observing every slug and snail in the yard. I climbed the cherry tree at the edge of the property and picked forest strawberries on the side of the house while regular berries had a devoted plot in the back.We played with a marble on the winding staircase between the floors, to the great dismay of our grandmother who worried about someone slipping on the glass ball. (No-one ever did.) I can describe in detail the furniture in every room on that top floor that now the air flows through.
This building was built by the Germans in the war. It has a vantage point of overlooking the town in the valley. My grandfather (by marriage) acquired this house for his good service after the war. He had enormous scar along the edge of his belly. It cut into his round flesh right along his ribs. My grandmother acquired him after both had devoted themselves to others, had children, but were reunited in their forties, too old to have children of their own. He rocked me on his knees and I thought I had his blue eyes, not yet knowing the lineage. (I didn't look into my fathers eyes to discover the blueness there.)
The building was leveled last week.
MVI 4811 from Tereza Swanda on Vimeo.