When the cold came

Nothing but blue skies.
Pure blue, metallic, electric, intense, wide and long.
Untouched.
In between the blue mountains and the silver lake, a white, floating line. Mist rising from the water, fog lifting the mountains upon its shoulder. This white horizon line cuts the world in two halves, at sea level, and all the mountains are now detached from the ground.
Everything so quiet and blue. Summer just landed on the earth. Summer erased all winter memories. Summer came loaded with blue. Summer became the only season and the only possible sky. Summer stayed planted firmly on the earth. At the end of the day, the sun came down, waiting for the night to end and came back the next morning, just as bright and yellow. The same sun, every day, again and again. Every day another summer day. Summer nights. Summer for sunset. Summer for sunrise. Summer in  the wee hours. Summer before saying good night.

When the cold came, I thought it was the air conditioning.

Auteur : Nicolas Esse

Depuis 1962, je regarde les nuages qui passent avant d'aller mourir.

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