The silent goddess

Modifié le : 2019/07/13

I must con­tin­ue on the theme of light. After work last week, it was still too hot for autumn. Peo­ple will­ing­ly walked bare­foot in the park, young peo­ple, bare-chest­ed and beau­ti­ful, jug­gling. I was too hot with my vest and wind­break­er, as if from a sea­son too far ahead of its time. Peo­ple smiled, ate and drank in small groups, laughed, break­ing their necks to offer their thirsty throats to the sun.

This sun, already very low on the hori­zon, breathed almost watery ener­gy. Around the large park, the city pol­lut­ed with its nois­es, cov­er­ing the dia­logue of birds, the song of trees. But, pro­tect­ed by the veg­e­ta­tion, the park man­aged to recov­er its voices.

I walked very slow­ly, absolute­ly moved by the moment, tired also by my day. I would have liked to be with peo­ple, to be able to talk to them in wis­dom and caress­es, to sit next to them and imag­ine telling them that I loved them. I did sit on a bench. Only the hor­i­zon­tal bom­bard­ment of the sun kept me com­pa­ny. The water of a foun­tain shone with what was left of light, announc­ing a vir­tu­al noc­tur­nal fun­fair, that of the last insects, of the last loves.

I breathed deeply, my thoughts and words remain­ing with­in me. I start­ed walk­ing again, reached the side­walk and Saint-Lau­rent Boule­vard. I went home and went to bed. On the wall, the light again, silent as a goddess.

I was at peace with, as an anchor in this water of the day, sad happiness.