photo: Leaves speak the language of temperature. In all their autumn glory, they are telling me « the cold is coming ».
The light bends like a truth slightly guilty because of its harshness, while the leaves fall brilliantly. Why does my shadow tug at my sleeve to confide in me, to remind me of old stories I had buried so well? Yet we make peace for a while, just to crumple a few leaves in the last rays of light.
photo: Mount Royal, fall, light, some leaves fall, others remain, like friendships, but those that remain shine all the brighter
you have to know how to let
some memories evaporate
even if incarnated
in worn-out friendships
you look at them, you don’t want to let them gp
but they cannot be played over and over again
like old TV shows
of detectives wearing tired trench coats
Photo This tree comes to meet me when I come back from my morning walks, I wanted to capture all its beauty before its leaves fall.
you will bump into me one day,/
you will recognize me/
perhaps, in the fatigue of my days/
Something will remain of that time/
in one wrinkle or another/
small moments will arise/
from the archives of our days/
we will remember.
each moment, each wound, inscribed in each line, each curve, then the colors that speak of the mood of the day, of the passing of time.
