rays of sun.

Rays of a typical NYC afternoon down upon us and I go my own way. We came to pay a visit to our history. What we found were just a few reminders of a town I have not seen again. A few reminders of something more recent, a war in secret, half still shrouded in mystery.

But it is here in this sun,

I feel myself most. Not the

Medieval plants or the stark attempt to recreate, but,

the sun. 

The heat is a wind slapping my face asking me to question This is you it says. Not just here. But there.

A pruning of one’s tree is always. The revolution is upon us almost. Still ongoing, a matter of resistance to save a tree, which needs to stand after all 

it’s mine. It’s ours. We are the tree. We are the revolution you said that day. 

But on that day before that day 

I saw the pruning of the tree. I saw the rays, charging down like kaleidoscope lumières. And I clicked that shot with my lens.

Rays of light, in pruning immortalised. 

The revolution is for always. 

The pruning of the tree. 20 August 2019. The Cloisters garden @the MET. New York, New York. ©le_chah_errant

Enjoy ❤️

Next week, if all goes well with us, we will start a little series in French. Not poetry, but social issues, which preoccupy us, concerning French society and perhaps they concern everyone else worldwide. Tune in and keep watch!

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