The Shapes of Leaves

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This drawing that I had entitled "the darkside of leaf", dating back at least 18 years, is a relic of my "youth" memories that I had stored at my parents' home, which survived the purge during the renovations.
Without telling me, my parents threw away my poems, songs, my ideas and thoughts on paper, quotes from books that inspired me, my huge computer from when I was 13 years old that I had inherited from my brother that he had received from my older sister, with a whole kid's life in its hard drive.
Not to mention my handy collection of old dictionaries that were much richer than the new ones.
When I had finished in another region, my pruning season, I went back to Paris to visit my parents, and realized the disaster that had befallen my stored memories, and that there was nothing else to do or even say, but to accept.
Accept that I had also lost my compilation of techniques, stories of wisdom on Asian martial arts that I had collected with discipline, ardor, and joy since I was 10 years old.
I was so sad and downcast, I looked around me, then my hands without warning turned to me, I looked at my palms to see my tears falling on them, I didn't know it at the time, but my past, present and future memories walk and will always walk by my side, one on the right and the other on the left.

It's a very short book of Henri Focillon (1881-1943), i would like to share two passages from this book which is entitled "Eloge de la Main"/ "Praise of the Hand":

I hardly know what to say. That is so sad that your parents threw away such an important part of your past. It seems they could of asked you what you would like to do about these things before doing that. It sounds about right though that you would almost immediately find something to be grateful for by looking at your hands and being appreciative of them in such a profound and poetic way. Thank you for your writings.
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