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<\/p>\nAnd time passed. Because it\u2019s like that, time passes. By the side of the footpaths and trails, the asparagus no longer sprouts its spurs, which have aged and transformed into spikes; the almond blossom has given way to green milky fruit; the lupins and the periwinkles have awakened from their slumber, bringing lilac and bright yellow colours to the small short cuts; the nettles have risen up in their resilient way, side by side with thistles, daisies, fumitories…<\/p>\n
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At times, I\u2019m inclined to think that time has passed me by. Memories populate a large part of the days, leaving little room for dreams. My body and mind are united, reacting to the need to perform tasks remotely, with the same effectiveness that presence makes possible. My energy is exhausted by the lack of space for its renewal.<\/p>\n
I go out. The door slams behind me. My keys jingle as I go down the steps. On top of my bicycle, there is no time or space. I can say goodbye to problems, delude myself into thinking that everything can return to what it was, both in structure and in form: wishing my daughter a good day, greeting students and colleagues when entering the school and kissing my colleague on her beautiful cheek when entering the library; hugging my parents on my day off and eating a good meal with them while we talk about the frugality of the days.<\/p>\n
While I let these good thoughts flow, a strong wind blows across the path as I pass by atop the two big wheels that make time stand still like a stopped clock. And then I smell a familiar, I would say maternal, fragrance: the scent of orange blossom. Intense. It\u2019s as if time itself were pregnant. It’s Spring. The swallows have returned to their nest; the sparrows chirp in competition, beneath the eaves; the blackbirds hop nervously about, stealing insects from the trees. And, for a brief moment, I forget the isolation, the distance from those I love most, the disease, the fear.<\/p>\n
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<\/p>\n
I can have that illusion, yes. We all would like to have the gift of stopping time, at least once in our lives. But time has not stopped. And it comes back to me again.<\/p>\n
After all, this has always been my warhorse, the most precious seed in my field. Nevertheless, it is ironic that it is offered to me on a platter, without having the opportunity to enjoy it. Have you ever been offered a dream without being given the opportunity to make it come true? I stumble over many words, but Freedom is what encapsulates what I really feel, or should I say: the curtailment of my freedom?<\/p>\n
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<\/p>\n
I seize the little things \u2013 and the emotion that they trigger in me. I have always valued small things, small lives, small gestures. And I see myself standing in front of a painting, immersed. There is a long path of distancing ahead. I move away so I can see it better. But, as Clarice Lispector said, \u201cEven cutting your own defects can be dangerous. You never know which defect sustains our entire building.\u201d<\/p>\n
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The path, therefore, calls for reflection and a lot of learning. Aware that less will be more. Less will be much more!<\/p>\n
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