It has become my ritual. Every morning I go to the big white wall and sit down. "He" knows that. I say "He," but I start dreaming that it's "Her". I don't know what it is, but what I am sure is that he sees me and that he likes to come into contact with me in the most delicate way possible, by having for my benefit some traces of his secret activity, such as benevolent offerings. Today, it was three beautiful ripe pomegranates. Before I grabbed one of them to make the fleshy and juicy seeds gush out, I looked at these three fruits for a while. In the past, I mean when I arrived, I would have rushed at them without looking at them, so hungry and afraid was I. Fear especially. Hunger came after. Earlier, I sat quietly and watched. It's amazing what you can see when you're serene! Until now, I never noticed the perfectly spherical shape of the grenades. The impression of solidity that emanates from them. I had never paid the slightest attention to this gradient of red, which tends towards yellow, like the skin of the tiger apples my grandfather planted when I was a child. I looked at it. I took the time to look. Then I grabbed one of the three fruits - that he gave to me, right in front of me. I rubbed it without even thinking about it, without thinking about my shirt is torn to make it shine, and I opened it. It was beautiful, and it was beautiful and pleasant as it was beautiful to look at that orange sky that was rising on the horizon, to the left of the wall so impeccably white.
What a strange sky! It looks like an inverted sunset... The horizon is at the top while an orange gradient darkens as the sky meets the ground. I don't understand it but - is that the effect of this refreshing fruit? - I don't try to understand, to look: to surrender myself totally to the pleasure of viewing. It's orange, it's there, I don't know what it is, but I think it's beautiful. Beautiful and tasty as the pomegranates She has just offered to my delight.