It’s been raining for almost two months.

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Yep! With a little rest in between pourings it’s been a damned cold and wet season.

The first rains brought floods and some attention from the media. The following left all grounds waterlogged (silence in the news cause there’s nothing spectacular in silent destruction). Lasts just washed away streets which in most of my country are made of gravel. However, at some point among the cold and rain and mud the pulse of life made its way to my plum tree.

There’s nothing I ignore most in my backyard than that tree. I deeply enjoy beautiful gardens and have an innate reverence for plants as living, altruist beings. Nevertheless, I’m not the kind that takes care of them. That faithful tree has had blight since I can remember. Now and then I think of fumigate and prune it, but it never actually happens.

However, every September it gives me this

 

and it leaves me speechless and moved and ashamed and hopeful and small and so thankfully infinite.

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