Her Trees

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Only if you observe the simple things you can become aware of miracles. “Her trees” begins with a sultry atmosphere of static and heavy sounds over which a tender and repetitive musical pattern floats: it is the stage that runs through a drama and a miracle again. It is the music originated from a hot summer garden when the scorching sun blends with the air and with the singing of the cicadas that at times stops and lets you sense that silence does exist. We entered that green realm of trees, where even the branches bent by bunches of fruits seemed to suffer from that motionless heat. Only a few months earlier, surrounded by a radiant spring, it had been the blooming garden of a young mother, who had been caring for and loving it for years. But since a few weeks, that sweet nymph was no longer there. Her parents would pick those fruits and would offer them to you with a strange energy, they would take the peaches from their laps and from the branches, you could not refuse them, then they would lovingly stare after you until you savoured the taste of summer. They were special fruits, born out of the flowers that in spring had caressed their daughter, maybe she was the one who had fertilized them, with the help of the wind and the bees. They were the fruits of their daughter’s loving care and they loved them and saw that they accomplished the destiny that nature had reserved for them. I never got to know the young mother but I was experiencing her through “her trees”.

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