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.