Every Month a Picture

When your pouch runs out of smiles, what do you do, my friend?

And her answer was another smile, nothing more... And through the eyes of the blonde Dutch girl I was able to read a story entire... The story begins at the Beirut airport, when the engines of the airplane roar to carry people from the earth onto the back of the ether, only to dash them down upon the earth once more... And everyone gazes eagerly to see what is inside the airplane, and nothing meets them but the narrow windows and the radiant smile that remains, from the hour of takeoff until the end of the flight, of the same caliber and measure. And it remains so however the faces change and the requests multiply. As for me, I began to watch for one thing alone through the hours of the flight: that the smile should die for a single moment, no more... And this desire would almost have driven me to pester the owner of the smile, had not the vexations of the air pressure begun, and the infernal machine started to tremble among the air pockets like a slaughtered sparrow... I ignored the danger so as to win my wish, and I was thinking that the smile had surely shrunk — but it appeared from afar, and with it smiles with which

the sweet stewardess wiped the terror from the faces and calmed the agitation of the hearts... as though she carried with her a sufficient stock of this merchandise to transform the atmosphere and let smiling take the place of gloom — and to solve my crisis, so that I ceased pestering her and raised to her the banner of victory.

The air stewardess worked no miracle and discovered nothing new; but she lifted the cover from a gift we all possess — namely, the capacity to smile however sharp the pains and however tense the situations. And not that alone: hers was the credit for spreading an air of radiance and gaiety in one of the tightest of hours, while many of those we meet every day strive their utmost to turn the cheerful atmospheres into dark caverns, planting in them, in place of every smile, a thousand scowls and a pursing of the lips...

Talk of the Heart

My shady green tree,

my companion at every dawn;

to her, with my coffee, I repair;

before her dewy splendor

I glorify the name of God,

He of everlasting majesty!

XXXX

My lofty, lovely tree —

what bliss is hers!

With what serenity she lies down beside the darkness,

and what gladness shakes her when she wakes!

Forever she defies the ages;

her branches strike the sky,

her roots embrace the rocks;

she glories in the fall of her tresses;

no sinful gray comes near her;

she sways, part upon part,

with the coquetry of fresh, abiding youth!

XXXX

In summer her breast is a stage for the sparrows:

she sings with them, claps for them, and makes merry —

...what warm love there is among them!

And oh, her might in winter!

She stands fast in the face of the storm,

returns its violent slaps,

shares in nature's rebellion,

ruffles her hair in fury

and strikes her cheek in spite,

like a lover set aflame by desertion!

XXXX

I love her... my companion the tree;

I love her in her weakness and in her violence,

I love her in her right guidance and in her straying.

She is a living symbol... of an impossible thing:

of a fresh, everlasting youth

...a possession

that is beyond my power!