Signs of Spring

The sound of the soft soles of water’s feet running over the stones. The song of water’s persistent kisses on the stubborn cheek of the chickpea. The whisper of the root’s desire in the bed of moist soil. — Without a doubt this is the end. The end of being empty. — In the corner of the cupboard the experienced pot, its heart lathered with soap, says to itself: — The beginning is near. We will celebrate, a great celebration...