There is something here about a living being pressing against something that has no life, giving it its beauty.

I can’t see clearly.  I’m reaching into the haze and waving my hand around, touching here and there.  Some words are asking to be expressed … but I don’t know what those words are.

I’m waiting.  Perhaps the words will come now, perhaps not.  If it’s a “No” I guess this will be a very short post.

***

The branches entwine. They have to love each other, to wrap around, to feel each other’s warmth. They are brothers and sisters in their essence as a tree.

The branches climb. They have to seek something above. It’s magnetic. They’re going someplace … together. It’s important that they get there.

The branches adhere to the brick. It’s the only way they can get where they’re going. There has to be a union of life and the lifeless.

The branches lead to the blossoms. A mysterious fragrance beckons, that of the lilac. The scent is intoxicating, shocking even. Such beauty actually exists.

The street is not remembered

The city is Ghent

Life lives here