26a de Diana Evans
Home was homeless. It could exist anywhere, because its only substance was familiarity. If it was broken by long journeys or tornadoes it emerged again, reinvented itself with new décor, new idiosyncracies of morning noon and dusk, and old routines. Nanny Delfi singing "Amazing Grace" as they woke up, the minibus that took them to a school with one corridor and back again at lunchtime when the school day ended; Aubrey's glass being set down on a table in the middle of the night; and the long rainy Sundays spent in the upstairs hallway, looking out.