Between Winter and Spring


The warming Sun of mid-afternoon brightly shines over the fertile lands. New grass, of such a bright green that defies the very definition of the color mixed with the brown and ochres of dead leaves.

The oranges and lemons are ripe on their evergreen leafy homes, while the rest of the gardens are still in the long sleep, in the apparent death of Winter. There is silence… birds have still not come back.

Since my forced exile deprived me of my own little parcel of Nature, I have grown restless. Grey have been my days, cold my nights. For many weeks, clouds crowned the sky, and the Sun and Moon remained unheeded. I took refuge in my own self, the only thing remaining to me that no one can take away.

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