Uninterruptedly seized by the hammering waltz of that draconian war, like a sinister boundless haze recalling that human’s intent is by instinct driven to destroy, it feels almost obscene to punctiliously perceive its opposite by planting a tree.
To observe life literally flourish into this blossom of all things beautiful, peaches promised, must be the salacious and soothing grace of our tiny domain, ours as in all of us.