Fall in the United States, Fall in the Midwest, my favorite season. When it is Fall there, it is Spring where I am., but Spring where I am is not at all what you would imagine. A dry season. So dry your skin looks gray, your lips crack and your nose bleeds. It may even make you think of Fall (there) with the carpets of leaves covering sidewalks and parks. You can see them running together when the wind blows the earth beneath them. They run and fly, a few inches from the ground, in a wave of browns and ochers. Spring, here is no time for all flowers. I've said it before and it is true: Flowers here bloom at their will, at their own chosen times. Except for the Ipês. Ipê flowers bloom when all seems lost and dry. They bloom and they are a spectacle!
I call them pompom flowers. First, come the pink. There was a tree right in front of the building we used to live. Then, come the yellow, my mother's favorite. Finally, trees are covered by white pompons, which remind me of cherry blossoms and of when I came out of the hospital after losing my first born.
Here, Spring has begun once more. And I miss swimming this year. Certainly. because I can't and because water has proven to be so soothing and healing to my thirsty soul. And in a moment of insane boredom in this strange endless year, I stood on my back porch and wondered: "What if I start digging up a swimming pool in the yard with my own hands?" To which my mind added: "I bet if you do it with a tea spoon you will still have time to swim in it!" My mind...
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