Motovun flashes through my mind several times a day every single day. My empty house comes to me more often than anything else. I can see the unlit dining table strewn with all manner of things. I can see the dark and gaping fireplace. I can see my study with both computers turned off. Now and then I can see my stark paintings, as well. The house looks and smells deserted, though. It is cold. Thick dust covers everything in sight. Cobwebs complete the wretched picture. But it just crossed my mind that the house is not entirely abandoned. Fleeting as they are, my visits cannot be pushed aside. Dreamlike, they still make a difference, no matter how slight. A ghost that I have become in my own house, I do remain a regular visitor. Several times a day every single day, no less. By comparison with so many houses in Motovun, my house is hopping with life.