Trees are a hot topic in my hometown. The city is planning to cut the green corridors for the construction of massive transportation lines. Most of our avenues have this darkening effect created by the amazing branches of a tree we call Gallito (Erythrina).
I adore the Gallito’s flowers but what I adore the most is how their seeds are naturally sheltered by some kind of scabbard that when dry and empty, becomes a small canoe.
When I was a child (and a tomboy), my school had trees surrounding the football field(soccer, always soccer). Before the end of the break bell, I used to pick the little canoes of the floor, check their state and shake them until the remaining seeds were gone. Once inside the classroom, I would save them for Sunday; an old house patio, a deep tank with freezing water, my bathing suit, my best canoe and I.
Since Wednesday I have been keeping myself busy with large windows. The surreal view taking me to the distance and muting my system from the machines and the soft noises of crocs (from people wearing crocs in the right context).
Yesterday the view morphed: the backhoe stopped devouring the mountain and went for the top, to claim industrial power over four ancient trees. I watched the ease of the claw, tearing at the middle and leaving a new space in the horizon for the sky. The Gallito tree was there, the flowers in full bloom.
Universe, why did you give perfection to such an ignorant land? Colombia, Antioquia, we are going to cry over you later.