Exalted be the voice of the muezzin .. It is Morocco .. The darkness has not yet completely closed its curtain, as if it were a half dark curtain, the inside of which is darkness and the visible before it is light. I remembered a small palm tree standing near my father’s grave, I saw it from afar, as if it was a gray ghost stretching its arms out in hesitating darkness, I walked in turbulent and fearful steps, groping my way cautiously, trying to realize if there was a grave under me so that I would not cross it, I remembered my mother running after me when I was young Trying to get past the graves, but there is no light now, and now I am groping my sins more and more, trying to reach the palm tree before it disappears into the deep darkness. I’m moving slowly …This is dirt that rises a foot from the ground .. Go back a little .. I change my course, perhaps it is a grave .. I am walking .. This is dirt higher by about a foot as well, but my leg has treaded all of it .. I continue against my will. I raise my head .. I look at the palm .. It is close now, about twenty steps I will get, now it is not a ghost rising in hesitating darkness, but a painting of a dark-tempered painter!