Every morning I walk through this beauty, and
as I realize that, most of the time, I,
don’t even turn around to look at it.
I feel guilty, I feel sorry for all those trees standing there, in the cold.
I blame my self, for not giving the right value to all I have,
People blindly walk through their cities. Routinely.
It is a quiet thought, mine.
Very loud from the inside, wants to escape my head, my mind’s constraints.
Every morning, I want to punch that feeling.
But anger is not the way.
Memory is. The way we felt, when it was the right moment.
And the heart, gently,
saw life, between the white trees.