Lilac flowers

I would like to write a story about this place, about its beauty and uniqueness, but I feel unable to describe in words the mixture of feelings that bear in me when I am here. I wish I could write about the fragility of the moment and its importance. I want to write about how the sun suddenly disappeared drowned in a sea of ​​clouds. I’m projecting myself in the spring rain that washes and revives everything. White lilac flowers mix with the smell of rain and  with children’s laughter. Soon it will be dark. I see the children mingle between white flowers on the cold and wet ground.

I have known this village for a long time now, and yet I am so far away from its essence. I try to capture in pictures its beauty, and what I see and feel when I’m here. I want to capture the ephemeral moment, the joy of life and the loneliness of our being, to model and remodel everything I see and everything I live when I am here. Soon, the land is quiet as the night falls, and there is a smell of lilac flowers that persists in the air.


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