storytelling
In some Arab cultures there’s a reluctance to use the word ‘never.’ Never is too final. Instead the people will say ‘Tomorrow, tomorrow when the apricots bloom.’ Apricots, you see, have a brief season and during the old days in arid regions people couldn’t count on apricots to blossom. Some seasons there simply were no apricots. An apricot tastes all the sweeter when there’s no guarantee of another.
This light is as sweet as the last taste of apricots. It’s as soft as a lover’s breath, and everything it touches becomes sweet and soft as well. For half an hour every sunny late-autumn afternoon the light slides through the window and caroms quietly around the walls in this corner. It was here yesterday; in another day it’ll be here again, and then again, and yet again every autumn afternoon for as long as the window and the wall are there. When will we grow tired of this light?
Tomorrow. Tomorrow, when the apricots bloom.
Photo "4115760334" not found (invalid ID)Photo "4115760334" not found (invalid ID)Photo "4115760334" not found (invalid ID)Blog photograph copyrighted to the photographer and used with permission by utata.org. All photographs used on utata.org are stored on flickr.com and are obtained via the flickr API. Text is copyrighted to the author, greg fallis and is used with permission by utata.org. Please see Show and Share Your Work
