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Forgotten things and woods Forgotten things are dangerous in their own way, the innkeeper said. The inn was a tiny cottage next to the woods. It was the kind of woods that was never light, even during noon. Always in variants of gray. Many things start in the dark woods. The woods are decorative things, with many parts and fragments that sway and dance. The rusting brings the unusual comfort, then the wind sounds like a river. The inn turns its lights off during the night hours. It drops into the darkness. Light separates but in the dark objects are fluid. Merging, it is safe. Sometimes, there are footsteps in the night. No matter what, there is a lure to take a walk with a lamp in these woods. Yet, the most appropriate way is to walk without light. Since light sources are disliked by the woods at night. Throughout the day, there are always tasks to finish. Working in this inn is quite relaxed however, there is always some space in-between. Such spaces are for breath, only there to allow for things to be finished slower. For certain things, care needs to be exercised. The woods are dim out of necessity. The innkeeper, despite his fear, wishes to stay there. Forgotten things are left here, the innkeeper says. Do you find them here, he is asked. I do not see them, he answers. There are whispers, the innkeeper says. But sometimes there are not even whispers, the innkeeper says. Travellers occasionally ask if there really is a lake or a pond in the woods. The innkeeper does not know. The story is that, in the middle of the dim woods, there is an open surface of water that reflects the undisturbed sky. Are you asleep? The woods is strangely popular among travelers, but it is never more than a half-day tour, and never twice. It is that kind of place. The innkeeper does not explain much to the travelers either. He is not much of a talker to start with, and he also does not know the suitable words. In the in-between moments, the wind is felt. The air is felt. At the end of the day, the body goes to rest in its wait for the muted sun and the hazy morning. The days are quiet, the dimness is dreaminess. The morning dew attracts morning walks. Below, what is below? The woods actually show the strangeness of light. Perhaps the original state is to be without light. Crispness appears as a much-missed factor here. Yet, you forget the sadness it brings. There is warmth in the woods. The branches that weave the cover, the leaves that layer the ground. The basket full and heavy. I am to ask. But for the nothings that arise. Like strands of smoke, it slowly floats into the air. Sizzling.
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Bogomil Bratoev (Bulgaria) p 30 Catalina Aranguren (Colombia/Usa) p 10/11/12 Cochino p 4/ 5/ 6 Don Farrell (USA) p 7/8/9 Helen Maguire (Ireland) p 56/57 Helge H. Paulsen (Germany) p 17/18 Hsin Trabelsi (Tunisia) p 31/32 Inès Lamari (Tunisia/Germany) p 19/20 Irina Novikova (Belarus) p 21/22 Jack Solle (Argentina/France) p 23/24/25/26 Jerome Rapin (France) p 27/28/29 Kamal Zakour (Algeria/ Tunisia) p cover /33/34/35/36 Ksenia Tsvetkova (Russia) p 1/2/3 Maram Nairi (Tunisia) p 37/38/39/40/41/42/43/44 Mayun Kalu (Sri Lanka) p 50/51/52 Mr.Krmsaad (Indonesia) p 45/46/47/48/49 Natsumi Sakai (Japan) p 16 Peter Langdon (Bulgaria) p 55 Rim Bouras (Tunisia) p 13/14/15 Stefan Doru Moscu (Romania) p 53/54 Tamara Wyndham (US) p 58/59/60 GRIMOIRE TEAM YASSER JERIDI - BOCHRA TABOUBI - OUSSEMA GAIDI 61