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Johannes Edfelt

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Night Visit

In my troubled dream a gust of wind burst open the door to my room and out of the rain-dripping darkness of the garden a horse trotted in. I recognised it at once. It was the dapple-grey horse I used to ride bare-back - oh, a dizzying number of years ago, that summer when I was twelve. Immediately I felt the steaming fragrancies of the sun-drenched hayfields. The horse also seemed to recognise me; it pawed the floor with its right forefoot, shook its mane, raised its head to the ceiling-light and neighed. I had nothing else to give it but a little still-fresh meadow-sweet from a pot. The horse vanished as abruptly as it had appeared. I grasped my head and ran to close the door. When I turned round, I noticed that the old table-clock, which had been a gift from a relatively well-to-do but towards the end of her life exceptionally senile aunt, had stopped ticking.

(1976)

 

Translated by Robin Fulton

Page(s) 13

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