In the shadows of the room, curled up in a corner, shielded from useless noise, waiting. The light blue pastel of the walls caresses and rocks, enveloping the delicate autumn atmosphere.
A blade of light enters from the window and moves slowly, brushing over the surfaces and caressing the objects, illuminating the photographs abandoned on a small table and the paintings hanging on the walls. Expectation waits along the line of the shadow that divides the light, becoming thinner and thinner.
A passion, a hobby left unfinished, and the wait finds some company. Coming closer to a small man made out of wood, exchanging a greeting and observing the colors of the wood as it is struck by the light, imagining new poses.
The imagination of the wait cultivated in the silence finds a new place to blossom. A quick flight from one point to another in the room, a soft and delicate landing, a new play of light and shadow and the colors that fade into the evening. Until someone comes home once again, and the wait is no longer alone.