From the Tower

Dear diary,
Today I took uncle for a breath of air. It was a beautiful spring day, we climbed up to the old tower and there we threw open the windows overlooking the now green hills. The sun's rays caressed our cheeks.

Ė always nice to appreciate the view from the tower. Uncle asked me to describe the view to him, even though he remembered it very well. Since he lost his sight, it is the smells that give him comfort, his is now a world of shadows and memories. I started with the gypsy's farm, then with the village tower, and gradually with the other villages perched on the neighbouring hills, all similar but not the same, some have a church with a baroque façade at the top, others have the remains of walls of an ancient castle.

Uncle was very happy to be able to enjoy the fresh air and sunshine.While we were there I suddenly felt sad, a pity that I can no longer see how beautiful the world is. Shortly afterwards he asked me to read his favourite book aloud, and so I did, trying to spell the words well, but he fell asleep, and so did I, I confess. The bell tower struck the hours and I woke up with a start.

Uncle was no longer sitting next to me but there was still his white cane leaning on the sill of one of the windows. Where could he have gone alone? I rushed to the stairwell and nothing, I went down at breakneck speed to the door of the tower and shouted his name, nothing, he seemed to have disappeared, dissolved in the scent of grass and sun-dried earth.

I was very worried, then I heard a voice: - wake up, wake up or you will be late for school - it was Mum. I crinkled my eyes and got out of bed. It had been a dream, too bad, I really miss my uncle.

• The work: Jessie Boswell, The Three Windows (The Tower Plain), 1924, Turin Gallery of Modern and Contemporary Art
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