Closing in on 11am. Outskirts of the village. New buildings, strong fences, fierce walls. Manifestation of property and ownership. Meanwhile on the other side of the steep narrow road, old houses are crumbling, dirt-stained windows, rooms that serve no purpose anymore, a lot of space to give home to one or two elders. Now-useless rusty gear parked in vast yards, slowly reclaimed by nature. And meadows overcast by thistles and nettles, brown with blossoms drying away in late summer light. Difficult connections to former home. Everything in constant change.