Un Imperio por otro

Description

I have a maple tree in a corner of my garden. I planted it twenty years ago, hoping to see its orange leaves herald winter. For the first two years, it fulfilled its purpose, and autumn was glorious, as if a flare had frozen in mid-air. But a few years later, the tree began to show its age, and now, once summer is over, the leaves fall without warning, going from green to the ground as if their dimmer switch had broken. (…) Since I’m insecure and need someone else’s fuel to spring into action, its impulse emboldened me, and under the canopy of my maple, I wrote my first columned text. This happened exactly ten years ago. They aren’t sonnets by Góngora, but they were my initial source, and from them, later, a book emerged. I’m fond of these texts, the kind of love one has for imperfect things.