It was a cold morning chill that brushed against my feet and sneaked under my blanket, waking me up in shivers. I could not shake off the dream; it was still so real to me, the haunting, slow moving procession of heavily pregnant women, all dressed in black, carrying inside them the seed of one man, my sons’ father. Every woman’s face had the same familiar look in her eyes, the empty gaze I see every morning in the mirror.
I sat up in bed, feeling my nostrils widen at the sudden intake of sharp mountain air, and I looked out trough the open window. The green treetops were blistering in the early morning sunlight. Their branches were almost touching the ground under the heavy load of unripe apples. Were the branches wondering if there was a higher purpose to their burden, if there was any meaning to their pain? And would the answer to that provide them with any solace? After all, branches don’t eat their apples, do they?
A big weight has been lifted today. I feel so light I could fly.
Photography by Lamirgue Guillaume