England's countryside
never looked more beautiful in one's eyes. It was just as if the wind that blew
over the green, warm, low hills suddenly gained colour. As if sunlight was
dancing around the clouds on the pale blue sky. As one red, old-school car
passed them, the apple trees along the road shivered and shook their leaves and
fruits in front of one child's eyes. They beamed with pleasure and with an
almost uncontrollable hunger for something which, he thought, was going to
happen soon. The window on the right of his backseat was open and he stood
there, feeling the air running through his hair like blood and water, trying to
catch everything he saw outside in his view, to take everything in and never
let it go.
"Should I take it
that you like England?" the one in the driver's seat asked cheerfully,
while still keeping his eyes on the open road. He had something that you would
call an irish accent, even though it was really vague, as if he had been away
from the country for a long time. And indeed he was, for almost seventeen
years. He smiled then at the woman on his left and she smiled back, through her
long, wind-caressed chestnut hair.
