Longing for the past.. Tired Lemon Tree..

I'm sitting on the velvet sofa in the living room. How beautiful was that armchair with its green carved headboard and wooden arms. There is a balcony made of glass right next to me. Beautiful glass balcony that made our breakfasts unique. Glass balconies are beautiful. They love uninvited guests. They host them. Dewdrops falling on him in the morning, raindrops, his hands that leave traces on them...

You take that smell when you step on it. The smell of the soil in the pot, the smell of beautiful flowers, takes you far, far away.. To the dreams you have dreamed.

I have my mother's basil on the floor. And a lemon and olive tree.

My mother planted them side by side in a large flower pot. He said you grow up here as brothers. The olive tree has grown like the earth is mine, it has spread; lemons are growing smaller, more docile…

My mind goes back to ancient times.

I remember that wonderful quote from the movie Green Apples.

“I remember the old while forgetting the new…”

Isn't that a fair statement? It's a word that I had a hard time understanding when I first heard it, but then I felt it to my bones.

I remember the old ones too, now forgetting the new ones.

Sometimes something like this.

It was the early 90's. Time is the best time..

As if life is then more meaningful, more compassionate.

Otherwise, why miss the old ones?

When I was a kid, we had a lemon tree growing with me, standing by the window in the living room.

Lemons on the branches caught my eye when I was running around the house. The house smelled like musk.

Its roots were deep and its branches were too tired to carry the lemons that had fallen into their clusters.

Who knows what he was talking about. What did he witness and whose mistakes he shared. Unknown..

Then we moved from that house. The lemon tree disappeared with my childhood and I always stayed in the old while I forgot the new ones...

The howling of the wind is stubbornly trying to get inside through the ajar window. The season is autumn. The evening prayer has just been read.

The sky is neither black nor blue. The moon is determined to hide itself.

It started buzzing again. I think the thin and low wind noise heralds that winter is now approaching.

The sound of the wind, which is hardly incomprehensible in summer. It is skinny.

Now he's walking around the street shouting. This time he is determined to take a place on the balcony.

At least he won't hurt my mom's sweet lemons.

I get up from my seat to close the door.

The old woman, who lives in the wooden house at the beginning of the opposite street, has opened her window and watches her reflection in the glass for a long time. What do you think?

Who knows, maybe a new lemon tree is sprouting in his body as he approaches the end…