Reconciled

As I passed the village cemetery, I stopped for a moment, looking with interest that land as swollen with life, with natural life, which is born of death. Lush and very fresh plants laughed, still impregnated with the nocturnal dew, at the sun that was going to drink it greedily. They were garden flowers, planted there without intelligence, but with the respect that peasant people always show their deceased. Lilies, roses, wallflowers, daisies, thrived in the terroir filled with elements favorable to its development, with compost from human bodies, and transformed the decompositions of the sepulcher into perfumes AND colors. (Fragment). Critics tend to agree in stating that where her ability as a writer is best reflected is, precisely, in her stories, brave, modern, impeccable reading. Reading these pieces is a pleasant surprise due to the diversity of their themes and motives.