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The counterpoint

Modifié le : 2019/08/05

My win­dow over­looks the main street. It’s tem­po­rary because my real bed­room is under con­struc­tion. I wake up with the resump­tion of urban activ­i­ties, the increase in traf­fic, the mul­ti­ple uproars that are not in any way protesting.

This noise does­n’t both­er me much ; I have a deep sleep and snores to any­one who wants to hear it my desire to remain unconscious.

When, at last, my spir­its regain their air and thus rise to the sur­face of the day, my ear imme­di­ate­ly catch­es the coun­ter­point of a bird, per­haps a female acti­vat­ing around its nest, maybe a male in dif­fi­cul­ty to reproduce.

The singing is sim­ple, a descend­ing melody, inter­twined with more or less reg­u­lar variations.

Cars go, trucks rus­tle, chil­dren scream, engines choke, doors slam. And then, a rel­a­tive silence, the bird’s notes quick­ly drowned again by an ocean of sounds.

Is it not more beau­ti­ful cer­tain­ty than to be silent to listen ?

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