As I lay on the pillow with the morning light, these were the words which came.
There was no need for my brain to answer. My heart knew. There is a deciduous tree on a roundabout in south Ghent. Six streets radiate. I had walked there once and today was the time to return.
Over the past few months there has been a surging outward from the centre … ever stronger and furious. I am being exploded out into the world – everywhere.
And so the streets call. I had to answer.
I know this voice. It is to be trusted. It’s quiet and smiling (unlike the other voice!) The quiet one is leading me to parts unknown, into the mist where I can only grope.
Approaching … It matters not that my new friend is not yet in its full glory. It still shines. And it asks me to come close.
I yearn to sit in a pub nearby, to just look into what the tree is. There are two – both closed in the early afternoon. So I sit on a low wall and watch life whirl around.
Cats swoop past the dear tree, with their drivers concentrating on the curve, not feeling the grace of a middle point flooding out into the arteries of life.
But I see.