27/03/2011
The Old Olive Tree (by V. Petrosillo)
He gazed at the olive trees, sit on a dry stone wall, as a disappointed spectator. Those trunks reminded him his life, twisted by time, carved on his skin. “It’s too late to start everything again” he thought, gazing at a lonely and bare olive tree with a suffered and hollow trunk.
But a sudden reflection hurt him in the eyes and captured his attention. He noticed, in that moment, for the first time that the sun was glassing itself on the earth. A gentle light flooded the field and millennial roots spring was painting the landscape. Yellow, green and blue: shades and harmonies, colours stolen from the impressionists palettes. This is how, then, century old olive trees seemed tender shoots to him, and his thoughts, as if by magic, melted away in the eternity of nature.
A honeyed fragrance touched his senses and he understood that “it is possible to start once again if you want to”. He moved against his troubles and started running through the flowered field. The bare and lonely olive tree, with its hollow trunk seemed to have arms.
It opened them up as in an infinite embrace.
