The garden of the water wells

In the heart of the plantation lies the water wells and the pumping stations. There are two small shacks that house equipment related to irrigation, and between the shacks a small gravel square opens. Around that square he once labored for months to raise a beautiful garden of flowers, plants, and bushes. Not much remains of that garden today, but it still holds strong sentimental values for himself. This is where he planted hope in the heart of his family and where he proved that imagination can translate itself into real settings. He has to start from there.

Into the depth

Boom!… He wakes up to the sound of falling metal. He has overslept again. The workers have arrived early and were chatting outside waiting for him… What on earth did they brake this time?… He jumps out of bed with a brief wave of anger, throw on some dirty cloths and pulls his boots in his legs. Outside, the workers are still waiting for tasks. He opens the door, burbles some orders at that and gives them directions to where to start… He has other plans for himself today so he won’t escort any of them. Instead, he dives into the depth of the orange plantation and disappears amid the interlocking trees.

Big questions

As the house nears in his sight, the walker’s forces recede and he instinctively selects the nearest tree on the side of the road to lay his back and gather morale… Why didn’t he leave this place yet? How come that of the previous ventures that he meticulously planned in his mind never saw the light of day? Is he deemed to live each day by itself? Does his memory reset every morning?… As he congregates these heart-breaking questions under the tree, his despair grow more melancholic… Yet, his situation is not hopeless as prospects of other attempts lure in his thinking… After a brief stagnation, the walker abruptly cuts his lines of thought, grabs his stick, and covers the remaining distance that separates him from the house in shy steps.

His longing shall be answered

The lone walker drags his feet on the long dirt road as he progresses toward his house. Under the moonlight, his eyes became accustomed to the darkness of the night as his feet recursively travelled that same road over and over and over. In his mind, he tries to flee the eternal recurrence of this short walking trip in his life by focusing on the variations that the weather brings to the surrounding scenery. The orange trees are thirsty these days. It’s mid-winter, but the seasonal rain didn’t arrive yet. The mind speculates about the resilience on the trees in these conditions, and makes an ironic comparison to the status of the walker himself. Is it true that waiting will bare its fruits? Is it guaranteed that his longing shall be one day answered?