Another old mill

It used to be so simple. Two buildings, one for a small mill another for fishing… amazing stonework, thatch, woodland…

Beach so close, the river quietly singing.

Or after heavy rains bit louder…

Simple.

But the wheel is now silent. It only can whisper stories about heavy duties and fun… about birds, tiny rainbows created by splashing waters… if you are ready to hear them, if you open your heart for the past.

… about people waiting, kids swimming, trolls and home dwarfs being so busy… ladies in long skirts and headscarfs. With faces smiling to the sun and blue sky, looking for first touches of spring. Like me now.

But also about renovations, songs, lullabies, stories, gossips…

People meeting here old friends, chatting and picking up pieces of bread, some dried or smoked fish… and something to drink. Waiting for some flower. So called simple life which in fact made everything so arty. Somehow ladies had time to cover their homes in flowers or create pieces from yarn which are still so hard to be done…

Simple life…

So why we made it harder now? Not that I wish to come back to times when toilets where wooden, outside… but still, why such rush?

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