le ador insa afara, in natura. la fel in casa, plantate in ghivece. cat mai multe!
astazi am facut o exceptie. buchetele mici, aproape la fel de ofilite ca mainile ei, mi-au agatat privirile. aveau ceva de pasare speriata prinsa-ntre palme, intr-o fatala clipa de neatentie. la fel de gingase, la fel de frumoase.
am intrebat-o cu cat le vinde iar ea, ridicand inspre mine privirea batrana si totusi inca limpede, mi-a raspuns "cu cat vreti dumneavoastra". am scos o bancnota si i-am intins-o, primind in schimb buchetul mic de suflete legate strans laolalta. si pret de o clipa, mainile ni s-au atins. ale mele erau calde. ale ei, uscate si racoroase.
inapoi spre casa, drumul mi s-a parut mai lung...
today I made an exception. the small bouquets, almost as sear as her her hands were, caught my sight. there was something about them, like a frightened bird caught in the trap of one's palms in a fatal moment of carelessness. just as gentle, just as beautiful.
I asked her how much she's selling and with an old, but still lucid look, she answered "with how much you want". I took a bill and handed to her, receiving in exchange a small bouquet of souls tightly bound together. and for a transient second, our hands touched. mine were warm. hers, dry and coldish.
the way back home seemed somehow longer...