The Sun light comes through the open window and falls on the bed, it’s very early.
Nature sounds and pure excitement send me outside immediately. I sit in silence and look around. The garden seem exhausted by this tough summer, its messy weeds, a symphony of brown and yellow, are all over the place, each ask for my attention. The olive trees are dusty and fruitless, the vine, although carrying lots of beautiful purple-green grapes, seem sad to me, one of the poor branches in front of the house has dried completely. Cicadas sing their loud song to me.
I take it all in and close my eyes, finally, after two years of pandemic and lockdowns, I’m back in my wild garden. My Garden…is it?
I’m here but it isn’t mine, it kept on going without me for the past two years. The rats inside the roof, the unbearable heat, and boiling water in the pipes, the mosquito bites, the ants taking over the kitchen – all indicate clearly that I’m not the owner or master of anything,
Be humble my dear, I whisper, you are nothing but a temporary guest here, neither more nor less than everything around you. Be grateful and humble.
Post art: wild garden, gouache and pencil on paper.