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 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.
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!