Text for the film
I received a letter from my daughter.
She writes that she is in a faraway village
where the houses are made of earth,
that she sees reddish hills at dusk,
and says that she feels at home.
She believes the inhabitants are poets and musicians
who call the birds with the sound of a horn.
She has walked through the village’s dusty alleys,
has seen the shadows of passers-by,
and found in a grotto the sculpture of a headless woman;
she wonders in what struggle she lost it.
She says that everything there has its own rhythm,
that time is marked by the sun and the stars.
She believes the sun dries the shadows
and the water carves its furrows
and makes everything bloom again.
She wishes that wherever I may be, the birds will sing to me.