Yesterday the sunlight dropped into the tiny house of my neighbours. They are not a couple, just a brother and a sister living together for more than sixty years now. In the same house they grew up as children. Where the shower is hardly touched and in the same room as the kitchenstove. The attic is used as stocking place for wheat. The basement has a little window with a view over a sandy meadow where the trampling paws of the bull killed the main tree. Even though I haven't been inside the house in years I still smell the sourish stench that is penetrated in all of the furniture. The man of the small peasant-house was sitting in his favorite armchair with nothing on except for his undergarments. Eating his cornetto ice-cream the sun is making his rimpled forehead sweat. The light shines on him as if he is a saint. On the top of his paunch his bossy dog is looking eagerly to the melting ice-cream. It starts licking it without even asking and the man let's it. The tv is displaying mute images of some kind of Belgian sitcom. I'm watching. It strikes me and makes me smile sadly.