listen, my heart, in his flute is the music of the smell of wild flowers, of the glistening leaves and gleaming water, of shadows resonant with bees’ wings.
the flute steals his smile from my friend’s lips and spreads it over my life.
The first thing that I remember is a green field enclosed by a stiff fence, where I was running about by my mother’s side. I cannot call to mind the earliest days of my existence, but I am
