Apátridas

This morning, through the narrow opening of our kitchen window, we saw, walking pass our backyard, someone who had left everything behind. They didn’t know their name (although they made up one in the spot to satisfy our immodest curiosity). They couldn’t really tell whether they were a man, or a woman, or a girl, or a boy, or anything in between, or anything beyond. They didn’t seem to recall belonging to any Homeland, nor having any other direction than gently moving forward; their steps leaving a graceful trace on the snow. They kept walking silently, looking pleasantly at the open sky, carrying nothing in their pockets, softly breathing in the crispy morning air, until they just got lost in the distance.