I looked up at the scene. The tree seemed to speak to me without me understanding its language as if I had, after all, only the neutral vision of an animal. No danger in sight, only the virtual protection of a city besieged by a little snow.
I still liked what I saw and rushed to get my camera out. Click. Just that, click. I came in and enlisted under the sheets to work on my novel a little bit. I fell asleep quickly afterward. This morning, I was happy to be alive again, tired, glad to look at the zebra window.
My eyes still don’t see the storm coming. Have my ears become schizophrenic ? How long are these waiting hours, have I been used to crying for years ?
I’m not complaining too much. I don’t know what to say except to continue this pious listening to my existence. I let go of my little joys, like an antelope in front of its pond.
Words are beautiful, they even embellish lies.