“Stable” – “we are made of the same substance as dreams, and in the space and time of a dream is gathered our short life” (W.Shakespeare – The Tempest).
Asleep inside a stable, sheltering from the cold, wet winters, bent over by a weariness that has no respite from fatigue. Wearing absolute misery. In the dream, that multitude of peasants – of lost existences – I delude myself that they experienced moments of dignity and liberation. The dream that liberates from the fatigue of living. The life that is enclosed within the passing of a dream.