To my Parents for their anniversary and their endless love. To my brother without whom I can not bear this distance for a breath:
I have lived in garden houses long enough to never forget the exciting gap between the red bricks of the wall and the blue tiles of our small pool. I sat there for hours, leaning against the bricked wall dipping my bare feet in the cold water. Surrounded by the scent of fig and apple, hidden between two rows of walnut trees I thought of the garden’s crimson Iron Gate.
Every morning while doing my routine; fighting over some sour cherries with a cattle of wild parrots new to our garden, opening the brook’s passage to water the vegetable garden, I would run to the Iron Gate, open it and fix a pair of huge black rocks on its foot to keep the gate open. Then I would stay there waiting for dad to come so we could walk to the bakery.
I have dreamed of the Iron Gate and the black rocks, thousands of times, since I moved deep into this distance.
I have the dream two oceans away from the garden and you.
I have the dream when I was sitting on a bench next to a manmade lake in a scattered forest surrounding the row buildings, one of which I live in.
I dream of the Iron Gate and I wished I had never opened it.
I wished I had stayed there with mom, dad and you.
I wished I had never left without dad, you and mom.
I wish I had waited at the crimson of the Iron Gate for you, all, to come.