Once in the house again I would begin to think of something else, and so my mind would become littered (as my room was with the flowers that I had gathered on my walks, or the odds and ends that people had given me) with a stone from the surface of which the sunlight was reflected, a roof, the sound of a bell, the smell of fallen leaves, a confused mass of different images, under which must have perished long ago the reality of which I used to have some foreboding, but which I never had the energy to discover and bring to light.
Etxera orduko, alabaina, bestetara lerratzen zen nire gogoa, eta, hartara, metatu egiten zitzaizkidan buruan (hala nola neuzkan pilaturik, gelan, ibilaldietan nik neuk bildutako loreak edo noizbait bestek oparitutako gauzakiak), leinuru jostaridun harria, teilatua, ezkila-soinua, hosto-usaina, hots, hamaika irudi ezberdin, zeinen azpian aspaldi hila baitzen berau atzematerainoko behar adina adore izana ez nuèn errealitate zantzutua.