As I listen to my friend, a centenary Pochote three; his bark, assures me of the harsh conditions he shares with Amapa, Guayacán and Palo Fierro. All dwellers of this last remnant tropical deciduous forest. Their attires in late spring are mojino, meaning pale. Pochote is the exception, he has bared leaves already, he has been busy transforming sap, light and CO2 into the most beautiful thorns. I fear, I respect. I dare to touch them. Can’t resist to celebrate their existence and I envelope each one with tender green.
Beautiful work! Love it.
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