＃Salzburg

The train has just pulled out of the station. not long after, villages after villages that barnacle the countryside slant into view. Occasionally you see an old house, or a cathedral, or a castle perched on a not too distant hill, and you wonder who lives there, or you wonder what it´s like to live there.

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Salzburg reminds me of a certain violin concerto. It´s first view is a resplendent spray of fountain, showering and refracting the myriad of coloured pieces of light. Then your footsteps lighten and gather pace as you take in the immediate view: Mirabell palace and its rose garden, the winged horse the colour of archaic jade. And when you come to the bridge that´d take you across the river, the old city opens before your eyes a childhood fairytale. Then the hour strikes, a bell chimes, then chimes again, and is joined by a nearby bell, and another, and yet one more, until the whole city becomes a prayer song of bells.

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I met a few of your countrymen. One had the kind of hair that you like to keep, and another had wild amazing hair flecked with gold. They also had your eyes, sad and faraway, like a petal adrift somewhere. Is that what being from lost island does to you, burdening you with its loss wherever you might go?