DRIZZLY AND DULL

There was a time I read all the plays of Pirandello, I was enraptured by his absurd philosophy and saw many of his plays performed and of course I read his short stories (Novelle per un ammo) and his novel Il fu Mattia Pascal.
A real fan I was. But suddenly I deserted him and his writings, as if enough is really enough. Of course I kept his books, neatly on a shelf together. And I told myself often perhaps it is time to reread, see what he has to tell you now.
So I started with a play yesterday evening and could hardly stop. The plot perhaps to complicated to tell here, but I remember that I in former days to whoever wanted to listen I used to summarize, that enthousiast I was. In one sentence there is not such thing as a personality: one is what others think and want you to be. That's really nutshell-like, sorry!
How strange it was that last night I dreamed that I was writing sentences with ease and speed I could hardly understand. Sometimes I have a dream in which I observe myself dreaming and have a clear opinion upon it.

The weather was drizzly and cold but nevertheless I walked and went to the horses with carrots and near the Eisenbahnerheim the goats came jumping to me in surprise and suddenly stood still.

My haiku:

I see the waiting
Observe the patience slowly
Discovering me

And the proverb:

It is a long lane that has no turning.