The Blue House
It is a night of radiant sun. I stand in the dense forest and look away toward my house with its hazy-blue walls. As if I had just died and was seeing the house from a new angle. It has stood for more than eighty summers. Its wood is impregnated with four times joy and three times sorrow. When someone who lived in the house dies, it is repainted. The dead person himself is painting, without a...