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She put a hand on my trunk watching her friend walking away.
I could feel her body shivering with anger and disappointment.
She focused another moment on the shape of the girl disappearing in the fog; then she spoke loud to herself.
"I finally discovered you are a snake, my friend. No worries, I'll make shoes out of your skin".
(The Olive Tree Tales)
In that piece of sea I can see from here he was desperately calling for help. He was drowning.
He had friends on the beach but only one was brave enough to dive. When he reached him, he beat him in the middle of the face. He broke his nose, I think.
The pain distracted him from panic and he didn't dangerously hang on his rescuer that could swim both of them back to the strand.
He never forgave him for his broken nose.
(The Olive Tree Tales)
She was so decent and rational.
Unexpectedly he caressed her.
I saw her melting under his touch.
It was like snowdrop flowers piercing the snow.
(The Olive Tree Tales)
He was harvesting with the ardor of a passionate lover.
The woman near by envied the grape and blushed.
She wished to be touched the same way.
(The Olive Tree Tales)
No colors, no paintbrush, he had only a few papers and a pencil.
He looked at things in a different way.
He sketched, and on his immaculate paper bloomed traces of Spring melting the Winter.
(The Olive Tree Tales)
He was keeping her hand helping her to walk.
He cleaned the food falling from her teeth-less mouth.
He taught her the words she didn't know any more.
She did the same with him once. Fifty years ago.
(The Olive Tree Tales)
Today two women met in the church in front of me. They both had their little children with them.
One was on her way out when the other asked if she was allowed to light a candle.
- Of course - was the surprised answer.
- But I am Muslim.
- God is the same for both of us.
They went together to the altar, one light a match and the other one, with that same fire, lighted a candle up.
They smiled at each other and moved on.
(The Olive Tree Tales)
He stopped here a moment for a last goodby. His eyes embraced his land and watered it with tears.
He left.
He was ready to go till the end of the world grabbing his string-kept suitcase full with dreams.
Not long ago I saw his son coming back here: he was wearing the white robe of a pope.
(The Olive Tree Tales)
It was one of the most beautiful sunset of the summer when they arrived.
They had polished curvy cars and graceful clothes; some of them started to play an enchanted unheard music, the rest began to dance.
The waves I can see from my hill moved the same way kissing the coast.
I felt that both, sea and people, were not dancing: they were writing poetry.
(The Olive Tree Tales)
