MargenA balcony with geraniums says: someone is holding out here. One with a bicycle: here they don't give up. An empty one, blind half-lowered, asks a question.
Balconies are the subtitles of buildings: they translate for the street what happens inside.
Children's towels: good noise. A parasol in January: nostalgia or hope, depending on the light. Dead flowerpots: call sometime, ask how things are.
As a girl I thought houses looked at each other through their balconies, that at night they told each other what they had seen.
Now I know it's true, only that houses tell it so slowly you have to live years on a street to hear the conversation.