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.
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!
The Teapot and the Postbox 