A picnic of wounds

Sometimes we become the people we've always hated or complained of and develop a strange sympathy for the time they were with us. We always have a predefined notion of paradise and in the hurry of finding it, we ourselves become one, for the devil.In the process, we gift ourself a wound, called regret. Which … Continue reading A picnic of wounds

The Iris Sellers

“And that’s how I keep them alive, beneath the oak trees, in the sweet limestone soils and this hot weather”, Fungi’s finger was held tightly by his grandson whom he brought to his workplace for the first time, “Phylloxera didn’t engulf them, and nor did the wars, they’re right here in front of you”, he … Continue reading The Iris Sellers