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by admin
Some thoughts from a wise friend of ours,
George Doultsinos, poet and author.
The last drops
So, it is time that Spring arrives. Within them, the last drops on the leaves.
Those drops were left by a disobedient storm, which supposedly did not see Spring was coming.
Small, wet and transparent, almost impudent, on the colors and aromas.
But consolation and jubilation together. Sometimes, like our tears from defeat, from destruction and pain. Some other times, like bearers of the beautiful nature’s parade.
But how small are the people to coexist harmoniously with it. So unworthy to happily smell the shocking perfume from the wet soil. So blinded by selfishness and vanity, that they never learned to love and fall in love. So impatient that they don’t have time to feel the joy of the new sun’s sparkling on these last drops. Fortunately, not all of them. It seems that more and more people were waiting for this Spring. Anyway, there will always be clouds on the way to the light. Sometimes gray, sometimes black, but other times bright, all white.
If you follow it, flowers will be born with the most beautiful, rare colors. So beautiful that even the thorns underneath will curl weakly and indifferently. If you’re at the end of the storm, your ship’s wheel will drive you to that port that doesn’t need a lighthouse. With the few who have found it and moored there before you. With the gentle splash of the shy little wave, which has secretly agreed to become music, leaving only a small breath of the air for orchestration.