The Enchanted Clock

by Julia Kristeva

  That vision makes her possible.

  In the sun-splattered street alongside the Lux, under her window, she sees a green hedge, the most delicate there is. Vibrating cords caressed by the breeze, foraged by clouds of bees. At the bottom of this cloth of transparent threads, scarcely higher than the height of a little girl of three, a rose laurel. Unique, slim, adorned with smooth dark green foliage, crowned by curly petals of cherry color. Which open to the pure light, the first light of the world.