DRY WOOD(DRY TREE) STORY

DRY WOOD

DRY WOOD( DRY TREE)STORY

Rain from the days; Everywhere there is a buttonhole cold, the trees are constantly shaking in the hands of a harsh brutal hand. I’m cruising behind a window. The garden of the opposite house is dry and the weeping sky does not give life to these dry lands. It also turned it into an impenetrable sea of ​​mud. When I think of myself in that slime, the last thing I saw was the crying sky gray expression of the bottom I saw. That garden is my infinity bed, I will never get out of this slime. I am day and night. My day sun, this little dry place will never be mine.


What do you think, one day I will have a tree somewhere and a garden? … I leave the garden and hit the roads. The streets are very crowded, I walk and walk without talking to anyone. While the night is chasing the day, I walk around the city street by street and return exhausted. Still dry, I look at the mud garden and close my doors. In the early days of the sun, the bright sky tells me to wink and wake up. I immediately get up and get ready and throw myself out. One half of the bus stop is summer and the other half is winter, I am waiting to stand in the middle of the two. Half of me is burning and the other is freezing. Anyone who comes with the passing of time is in a deep conversation; I am in conversation with the sky. When I wake up from sleep, I have an action; the bus has come and I am catching up running without me. I look at everyone offended when you get in from the station, not even one has called.


What would happen ‘you don’t get on the bus. If they asked the question ‘. Anyway, I’m on my way. I continue my endless journey in the back seat of the bus. Who wants to catch up with a rush at every stop. Some go to school, looking for a cure for his illness. What do I want? I guess there is no answer to this question. My journey of hours ends in the heart of the concrete city. I go down unhurriedly and enter the street that comes first. While everyone is running to the station, I, on the contrary, are trying to climb to the top. It’s always been like this. How Does ? “I don’t know when everyone is climbing, I want to climb to the top while everyone wants to stroke. Anyway, work and work until the evening. Then the noise piercing the darkness, the humming sky, returning home in a bustle that haunts himself. A question in mind, “was it worth it?”


I keep staring at that window again. The rains are still with us; the sky is sad enough to cry endlessly. In between, the sun seeps in in the garden when he calms him with words warm enough to make the sky forget its sorrow. Those very dry lands, and even that little weak friend of mine is trying to warm the tree. “Don’t give up, maybe if you manage to warm your cold body, we will all get warm.” The days never change. Why does this tree never grow green? I went to work today and came. I took a city trip yesterday. It was so hot this morning that I even went for a run. Yesterday I sat in a tea garden, it was very, very hot with friends, I was a little cold even in that heat. But it was beautiful. I sat there; Watching them was very enjoyable. They had a lot of fun. My first thing in the morning was to run to the window. Now the seasons have changed and hot days reveal their colorful beauty. I can’t get enough of taking a city tour. Ours are on vacation, me here. Friends have offered to go to the sea. I will go.


We went to the beach as a very nice crowded group and I did some strolls on the shore. Others played beach volleyball. I have the food preparation job. We ate with pleasure. I watch as they play sandball. I was so tired in the evening that I hardly put myself in bed. “Is life enjoyable?” We’re living not knowing! Why does not the dried garden turn green? Why is a single tree the bait green and does not light my soul? The cup dry tree does not respond to the weeping sky or the sun with its warm smile. As the days keep chasing the days. It’s time for me to go on vacation. My parents’ hometown is the place we go every year and everyone is happy.


What I missed waiting for this holiday. It is nice to say goodbye to those empty hectic streets and fall into the roads we have fallen into. The huge village house that we reach from the calm roads decorated with the colors of the rainbow and fragrance. This is my father’s and mother’s village. My grandparents are still alive. We will stay at my mother’s house first. My mother’s house is a mud-brick paradise with small two-story windows.


I go to this heaven that smells like food and to hoe with my grandfather and grandmother every day and to pick fruit from the garden. Little lambs and their mothers are not given to a shepherd. My grandfather and I can show them around. How beautiful lambs are. Oh they are naughty. In the garden; It is a separate pleasure to sip a beautiful tea under the gleam of sparkling lanterns accompanied by crickets at night. The garden is full of life with a smiley face everywhere beautiful fragrance color. The food is green everywhere. My father’s house is another joy. The house is like a three-storey house, each floor is separate. My father has two more siblings. Everyone comes at the same time, a fun starts at home. Young people are fun every day. We go to graze the animals together. My parents are in a food rush. Dads in the garden chat. We are in a hurry to keep animals in the house, in the garden. Always hectic, always enjoyable.


It is impossible not to get lost in my garden garden. But that garden is wandered dozens of times a day, chasing a duck, chicken, goose that comes out from everywhere. Conversations and jokes with cousins ​​are another pleasure. Listening to the guitar concerts of one of the cousins ​​and the other saz concerts with the accompaniment of tea until late at night. To forget the time spent under the smiles of the stars that illuminate the night and fall asleep in the garden. This is life. This place Yem smells green life.


Here the days are over, days have passed and a vacation is the end. We are returning home. Is that home? Or I always ask if it is the place I left behind. I’m in my room again. The fatigue of an endless road and I fall into bed. I wake up when the night turns into the morning. I see it’s a smell coming from the window. I’m running. A few branches of leaves on the tree that I said “The tree will never grow dry”. A little bird’s nest on green branches, little nest of starving little chicks and their parents trying to feed them.


I made my decision at that moment. Yes, I cannot stay alone in the village, but I know that garden is green. Many more gardens. That day is gone, but I was still in that moment. Now? I have farms now. I still go to visit my grandparents every summer. There is life in those farms. There is chaos and rush. Joy, happiness; there are colors and scents. So there is real life. Yes, there is no dry tree anymore. It turns green immediately every spring. Then it turns pink with their fragrant smiles, then our birds make us happy with their tiny little chicks. I’m happy. I have friends with whom I chat, smiling friends, and a happy family. I am happy and lucky.

Mavi İlkay Masal.

dry wood

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Mavi Masal İlkay tarafından yayımlandı

hikayeler.. Hikayeler de insanlar beden bulur , ruh bulur. Bizden bir şeyler taşırlar. Bizden esintiler izler , hisler hikayelerde. Hikayeler bir parça umut, bir parça acı, bir parça hüzün , bir parça neşedir. In stories, people find bodies and souls. They carry something from us. There are breezes from us, feelings are in the stories. Stories are a piece of hope, a piece of pain, a piece of sadness, a piece of joy.

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