The hens could be out of their wooden house but the
light, the light had to keep always lightening.
Alright, they didn't have any wooden house for the
hens or the chicken; in fact they didn't have animals at all.
But it's just an exemplification.
There had been days when they were the neighbours who
came and turned the light on. I don't mean the indoor lamps. The important one
was the one in the main door. The one that made you feel at home when you came
from a busy day jumping from one street into the other. The one you could
perceive from many streets away. Placed at the entrance, distinguishing what
was the street and what was home.
Considering the sorrow one experienced being the light
damaged, someone once had the idea of using a never-ending original light bulb.
But it was not the same. So they kept on caring about the light, being always
aware of maintaining it lightening.