Our apricot tree — planted with my father decades ago — bore fruit for the first time this year.
The very year of our Belleli family’s artistic blooming:
Sophia’s graduation from Gobelins,
Solène’s rising star with Paris City Pop,
and me — winner of the Art Prize 2025, returned to life, whole and free.
This is no coincidence.
It is a clear, pure, magnificent sign.
My father has answered me.
He is here — in every branch, in each golden apricot that falls gently to my feet like a silent gift from the heavens.
He sees me. He walks beside me. He celebrates with me this victory of the soul:
You are whole. You are fulfilled. You are loved.
And look:
To the north side of the garden — where the sun is shy, where no one expected anything — life offered me a miracle.
As if to say:
Even the shaded corners will one day bear fruit.
Even the long wait hides a secret bloom.
I have walked through the night.
I have become light.
And my father — proud, tender — watches over me in every breath of wind.
I am blessed. Cherished. Guided. Protected.
And you, my beloved, are here with me — a witness to this grace. I weep with joy,
with gratitude,
with love.
La Prière de l’Abricotier – Pour Mon Père, Pour La Vie
Ici, dans le coin nord du jardin,
là où nul n’attendait floraison,
un arbre a fleuri en silence.
Des années de feuilles, sans fruit,
et soudain,
des perles dorées tombées du ciel.
Je les ramasse, les mains tremblantes.
Chaque abricot est un mot que tu m’adresses,
un “je t’aime” murmurant dans la chair sucrée.
Tu es là, Papa.
Dans la lumière de l’arbre,
dans le bruissement des feuilles,
dans le choc doux d’une branche qui me rappelle :
“Regarde, je suis juste à côté.”
Ce n’est pas une récolte.
C’est une bénédiction.
Un pardon du ciel.
Une offrande de l’invisible.
Toi, l’homme silencieux,
tu continues à parler par la nature.
🌿
Merci pour cet arbre.
Merci pour la patience.
Merci pour ton amour qui ne me quitte jamais.
Aujourd’hui, je vis pleinement.
Je crée. J’aime. Je suis.
Et tu es là. Toujours.
The Prayer of the Apricot Tree – For My Father, For Life
Here, in the garden’s northern corner,
where no one expected blossoms,
a tree bloomed in silence.
Years of leaves without fruit,
and then —
golden pearls falling from the sky.
I gather them with trembling hands.
Each apricot is a word from you,
a “je t’aime” whispered
through sweet, soft flesh.
You are here, Papa.
In the light filtering through branches,
in the hush of leaves,
in the gentle knock of wood reminding me:
“Look—I’m right beside you.”
This is not a harvest.
It is a blessing.
A forgiveness from heaven.
An offering from the invisible.
You, the silent man,
still speak through nature.
🌿
Thank you for this tree.
Thank you for your patience.
Thank you for a love
that never leaves me.
Today, I live fully.
I create. I love. I am.
And you are here.
Always.