, , , , , , , , , , , ,


Every day the garden has new things for us to pick. When the sun is setting, while my mother is watering the plants, I pick the ripe tomatoes, the first courgettes with their flowers, the first small eggplant. My nephew runs towards me barefoot; he wants to pick some peas. We pick all the ones we can find knowing that nature’s magic will give us more tomorrow, I gather all the vegetables and we go back inside. I wash the carrots while he starts opening the pods and eating all the peas: I guess we won’t have any left for dinner.

As I am writing Β and the day is slowly coming to an end , I hear bees, cows and birds. There is no noise; How wonderful can a moment of silence like this be?