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the River of forgetfulness

My hours are married to Shadows....

“In the hours they spent chewing my bones, I grew a stone for my heart, and poisoned the rivers that ran through me. I studied the bloodless moon.”
H.C.M
2 years ago. November 8, 2022 at 3:57 PM

 

The night gardener once asked me if I knew how citrus trees died:

when they reach old age,

if they are not cut down and they manage to survive drought,

disease and innumerable attacks of pests,

fungi and plagues,

they succumb from overabundance.

When they come to the end of their life cycle,

they put out a final, massive crop of lemons.

In their last spring their flowers bud and blossom in enormous bunches and fill the air with a smell so sweet that it stings your nostrils from two blocks away;

then their fruits ripen all at once,

whole limbs break off due to their excessive weight, and after a few weeks the ground is covered with rotting lemons. It is a strange sight, he said,

to see such exuberance before death.

~Benjamín Labatut 

 

Photography: Natalia Deprina 


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