De Ziekte der Verbeelding

Amid the endless, windswept heath of Limburg’s northern edge, a shadowy forest of oak, willow and alder clings to the ground like a dark stain on the sand. At its heart stands the crumbling stone of Wildenborg, a once‑grand square castle whose broken towers and ivy‑choked walls whisper of forgotten wars and long‑neglected upkeep. The surrounding land, overrun by wild grasses and stubborn weeds, feels suspended between decay and the stubborn persistence of nature.

Within the lone gardener’s cottage that leans against the ruin, an elderly woman moves with quiet ritual, pouring coffee from a tarnished silver pot into a gilded porcelain bowl—objects far finer than the humble surroundings suggest. She kneels in prayer, her fingers tracing a rosary, while a gaunt, silver‑haired man with a spade leans on the threshold, his eyes heavy with unspoken grief. Their somber exchange hints at a lingering bond to the estate and a mystery that has endured through the centuries, inviting listeners to step into a world where silence holds the key to forgotten stories.