photo : Pohara, un jour de mauvais temps, tout aussi beau
On devrait demander pardon au monde
d’avoir promis pendant trop longtemps
qu’on le referait plus grandiose
(ce serait une métamorphose
une overdose de vie en rose)
car on ne le pourrait pas :
tout était déjà là
c’est juste qu’ on ne le voyait pas
photo; Marahau (windy gardens) Abel Tasman national park, Goden Bay, savouring the moment.
at the beginning
we would do whatever was necessary
to follow what we thought was history
and one’s fate
asking profound questions
about every single second
or the before and after of the world
we would think about everything
but we wouldn’t live much.
When we would wake up to the world
we would try to live every second
but there wouldn’t be that many left
and the past would be bittersweet.
photo : obviously, a photo from a winter different from the ones we have in Nelson, but the feeling is the same. Ottawa River. This ghostly vision spontaneously inspired a(n almost) rhymed poem in French (not so much in English, though)
We found our ghosts/
where we had placed them/
in the river of our dreams/
where they fell asleep/
listening our lies/
but the music was nice/.
*put online in 2024, edited in 2025
Photo: Marahau (windy gardens) at low tide, the marsh where seabirds gather
They stood here and there
Like little soldiers
The twigs !
Like little herons
Scrawny in the world
Of marsh and dead wood
In the microcosm
Of damp sand living
In a vibrant silence
photo : I took a photo of this tree last year, and it gave me the same show this year at around the same time. Last year, this is what I had to say about it : this tree comes to meet me when I come back from my morning walks, I wanted to capture all its beauty before the leaves fall.
you will bump into me one day,/
and will recognize me/
perhaps, in the fatigue of my days/
Something will remain of our time/
in one wrinkle or another/
small moments will arise/
from the archives of our days/
we will remember.
