What had the old man done to scare so the child I was?
From the path, I could always spot his crooked figure on top of the hill, planted alone under his naked, leafless tree, from dawn to dusk and under the burning sun
Always in his wool sweater and his beads of sweat for jewelry, His stare fixed on the horizon - It was better to run the detour than cross the path of that vulture like gaze.
Perhaps it was just childish imagination.
- seeing monsters lurking in the shadows stretching under him -
the colours of which stained my memories, even into aldutlhood,
the colours of which stained my memories, even into aldutlhood, even after the old man moved to lie between the roots.
But perhaps it was because I saw how he was so lonely
the feeling hanging off of him so heavily it pulled all his features down like too much snow on a frail branch.
And, even the child I was knew - and made the detour.
Having caught my first glimpse of a fate that terrifies me.