Voices on the Wind Voices from Home
Visiting Home by Mark Vogel Bruno Ganz with his stately wrinkles, his humor and insight into a thousand travels, has matured into wisdom. If his vita lists movies freezing his ages into accomplishments and lovers, why am I still a child visiting one more time this old home, in the once permanent neighborhood? How could the family move on without mourning the significance of what was, and where are Mom and Dad who held the days together? The car creeps, and we peer at landmarks, trying to isolate essence, though we are afraid to see what has altered. Aged for decades, we giggle and bump shoulders, not at all like stately and dignified Bruno Ganz. We are original settlers returning maybe to meet our young parents and our raw childhood. We see the big oak removed, the new fence, how the pasture has mutated into a cross country track. But still, like essentials never changed, squirrels jump from tall trees and skitter across power lines, and surely inside the house deep quiet continues to breathe, waiting for the furnace to spring to life. Surely the black snake which escaped from its terrarium still lives beneath the water heater. Strange how so much in this adult world feels private and off limits. Maybe forever we will look on with big eyes, and feel gangly fourteen with fly away hair, though in dog years we could each be Moses, looking like Bruno Ganz, with all the ages layered within, facing the abyss.