Returning
to Holland at the end of the summer we would find the garden that we
left well attended at the end of June overgrown, harnessing itself
for the inevitable autumn.
We gradually began putting it a bit into shape again, knowing it would all be in vain. The autumn covered it
with fallen leaves, sometimes winter would bring a blanket of snow
after which most of it turned into mud for weeks. We looked for the
spring and the magic of new life.
Shortly after the picture was taken
you fell terminally ill. Three months later I stood at your grave,
looking at the mountains in the distance. It was a sharp day in
Thessaloniki. A man appeared and silently began shifting earth into
the grave, while I turned away, lost for words.
Photo:
Kees Klok
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