Great manor house (Part 5), Pöytyä, Finland

Bright autumn light came in from narrow gaps between the moth-eaten curtains, played lively on the once-white tablecloth and yellowed wallpapers. Slanted floor was hitting the pit in the middle, oblique doors had dropped to dislocation. Small, winged animals had died in the salt jar. Upstairs I was afraid of the floor boards deceiving. We were creeping like mice, hoping we would be light as feathers, out of gravity's reach. And the floor withstood under our feet. Lifeless bearskin was lying on the boards inside out. I was happy that I couldn't see it's face. An empty bassinet forgotten on the desk, I was wondering where the baby was today. Was he or she even alive? We were reading the funeral invitations in silence. The landlord was humbly calling people to his beloved wife's burial, three years later the neighbours had lost their corporal son to the war. Somebody had written the year in a broken mirror. I could see my touched self reflecting from it.