Hope

Hope is a tree with wind.

Without waking, I think of us. Outside the sun paints the branches that the trees already lay down in spring green.

March is there – between crises and colds, the world always finds a way to reinvent itself – and I think about what this new spring will bring.

In the centre of Europe, after the great mountains of the West, I find the answer.

Today there is a sprout, a seed, a glimmer of hope that fills my days with joy. A new way of being that is in itself a definition of love.

It is in this new species, which the biologists have not yet catalogued, that I deposit the warmth of my desire and the joy of my being.

While I feel an incredible urge to rewrite all the botany manuals and redesign all the sketches of Darwin’s journey, I smile.

It waves the elegant green on the leaves that shine outside in the morning breeze. They dance with the elegance of who knows all the songs from memory.

I open the window and let in the colour and sound. That’s also why I have in me all the dreams of the world.