Ali Bedro

One misses those who left more than those who stayed. Of course, there was a reason for my arrival in Çukurova. I was looking for my father, but the time period I found and lost had become one. As I was walking around the hospital garden, it was late in the evening and it was already approaching sunset. The sun was setting on the long, wide plain of the Mediterranean, the evening air had become quite bad, the Mediterranean southerly blowing from the south was making it quite cold, and on the other hand, large pine trees were shaking their branches at the tops. The clouds were pregnant with the beautiful autumn rain of the cold. The wind was trying to disperse the clouds, they had suddenly moved north and turned towards the upper Taurus mountains.
I noticed that a few drops of rain, scattered from the sky, had touched my face. Purple ivy had wrapped itself around the iron fence separating the hospital garden and the nursery. There were a few tiny birds singing freely on the purple ivy. The small Arabian nightingale was disturbing the serenity in the hospital garden, swaying the thin branches of the tall, very fat pine trees and the willow tree. The cold breeze of the Mediterranean was trying to disperse the clouds pregnant with rain. The wind high above was already at sunset in November in Çukurova. The blowing wind was creating small tornadoes opposite the bench where I was sitting...