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Grey walk

Modifié le : 2019/08/08

Sat­ur­day morn­ing grey, and sweet. Tem­per­a­tures over the next few days will look more like a tired sum­mer than a dying fall. The air is good, the walk is long and pleasant.

I am amazed at the num­ber of objects that geometrize my glance and my thoughts. We quick­ly for­get what sur­rounds us to focus on objects in our heads that always seem new and less worn out. Our kind brains love fables, and its king­dom is filled with won­ders, Alice among the delights, anguish among the stu­por of indulgences.

How­ev­er, it must be remem­bered that our exter­nal land­scapes are an accu­mu­lat­ed reflec­tion of our real­i­ty. What sur­rounds us draws us. It is high time I cleaned up the apartment…

The city like this, this Sat­ur­day, in my neigh­bor­hood, seemed bare­ly awake. The uni­verse I live in is made up of indus­tries, roads, hous­es and gar­dens that are more or less neglect­ed, a dis­trict like so many oth­ers in Mon­tre­al, quite ugly, quite Eng­lish in its con­struc­tion, homes that once housed work­ers, streets now pierced by cheap and more mod­ern con­dos. In short, an archi­tec­ture at ran­dom since you have to live somewhere.

In the sky, every­thing seemed grey. On the floor, it was more col­or­ful, but as much ruined. The lus­ter of life is nev­er­the­less warm, tint­ed by ember, and very real.

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