This plum tree has not gone unnoticed: the glory of the flowers and the light is a spontaneous call, like breathing. I inhale the fragrant draughts in my lungs: I know it is good for me, I try to touch the white flowers, like something familiar:
“We are such stuff | As dreams are made on, and our little life | Is rounded with a sleep” said once Shakespeare.
I say: we are made of flowers, of light and colour, everything beautiful that attracts us.
I raised my hands to touch those flowers and felt like an ancient worshipper admiring his god.
