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Every morning

Every morn­ing, a new mix­ture of colours, a har­mo­ny that painters can envy. Autumn con­tin­ues its time­less and cycli­cal work. Every morn­ing, a reminder that the wheel turns, nev­er quite in the same place since time, in our heads, piles up like dead leaves, brown and green, set with yel­low and wind.

We can only explore it every day if we walk through it. You have to let your eyes wan­der over the coin­ci­dences, calm your thoughts so that they absorb the chance of encounters.

The same goes for the peo­ple in our lives. To be with them every morn­ing, or dur­ing every emo­tion, to wit­ness their sea­sons, the smiles that are coloured by the emery of pain, to hear them, touch them or see them die, just once before they come to gar­den in our memories.

Liv­ing requires humil­i­ty and respect. Of course, there are poi­sons around us, vio­lence, mis­un­der­stand­ing, witch hunts and illusions.

But by walk­ing our life one step at a time, we can over­come our tor­ments. One can at least reach a fer­tile region, a lawn where only four-leaf clovers grow. To live requires dreaming.

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