Friday, 18 November 2011

Olive Trees.

Once more I find myself at a place where a long past is a living and breathing beast. It's everywhere around you and I usually find such burden to be a heavy one and need to dilute it with a simpler, more lighthearted, juvenile dose of time. A bit of today and tomorrow that is.

What happens though when this time past is literally living and breathing? I'm talking about ancient olive trees. Centuries old and so unruly and tall by now that you couldn't harvest them, comb and prune them without respect. And like anything else of this age you have to play by its rules. Lay your nets underneath and wait, let even more time pass. After all, that's how they got to be this old.