Creo que da cidade húmida e fría do norte quédame o tratamento que as follas das árbores (ou as suas pólas espidas) facían cada mañá sobre a miña alma, de camiño ao traballo, cando pasaba conducindo por Wilbraham Rd e Birchfields Rd.
Creo que daquela en segredo agardaba a chegada dalgún mesías, que me dixera “tranquilo, o teu tema pronto vai solucionarse” pero malia a fe o único que me axudaba eran as fermosas alternancias de cor, volume e textura nas follas das árbores, ou na sua ausencia, o filtro da luz nas pólas espidas, ano tras ano.
The northern city
Of the northern city, I think I’m left with the treatment that the leaves of the trees (or their bare branches) did to my soul every morning commuting as I drove past Wilbraham Rd and Birchfields Rd.
I think at that time I was secretly waiting for the arrival of some messiah, who would tell me «don’t worry, your concern will be soon addressed» but despite my faith, the only thing helping me were the beautiful alternations of color, volume and texture in the leaves of the trees, or in their absence, the filtre of light in the bare branches, year after year.
abel abilheira 