April. Washington, D.C. The skies were wet and gray. Despite, the streets of Georgetown were charming. Natalya and I were tired from walking all day. A cute tiny park the size of a coin offered us a sweet chance of relaxation. We opened the gate and walked in. There was a strange silence in the garden. Only when I noticed the tree, I understood: it was the silence of suffering. I felt almost physical pain, looking at this young tree, which grew through the metal rod. Year after year, inch by inch, she penetrated herself into the rod deeper and deeper, like in a Tantric sexual act, stretched out in time to absurdity. We quickly left and never talked about what we saw here since.
|exposure mode||full manual|