It’s a Saturday afternoon, the end of the summer, my favorite season. The mango season. I can eat mango all day long. It’s my favorite fruit.

I’m lying on the hammock, underneath the tall pine trees in our yard, suspended between heaven and earth. I can hear the tractor roar from the Mango grove, behind our yard. I like Saturdays because Daddy is at home, he makes breakfast with an omelet and salad and fresh squeezed orange juice, and then we all go and work together at the mango grove or in the greenhouse. I love our mango grove. I always find interesting things there. A rabbit that runs between the lines, or a partridge with a zillion chickens. A nest of bulbul or a snake crossing. I’m not afraid of snakes. Just a little bit. Mommy is really afraid of them. Soon she will call me to dinner, I can smell that, but at the moment I just enjoy being in the hammock, listening to the blackbird sings. Looking at the coarse trunk of the Pine tree above me. I like to climb on it, feeling its texture with my bare foot. passing the first camp, and the second camp, going all the way to its top. I hug it tight and swing from side to side. Watching the clouds and the flocks of birds passing by. I like to feel the breeze on my skin and to see the view of our village and the fields from above. It feels as if I’m a bird.

I will turn four next week, I’m a really big girl Now. Grandma will come from Germany with lots of chocolates for my birthday. Mom says all the time that it’s such a pity that Grandpa didn’t get to know me.

She asks me what I want for my birthday. Wings I tell her, I want wings.