Party discreetly, in the euphoria of alcohol, loud music and embraces symbols of a new year full of promise, he has taken a while, he was discreet, and forgotten the time of spring, we finally did languish the joyous prospect of two weeks of reunion and all the preparations ... before yesterday morning, faithful to the post, he slipped surreptitiously into our lives, deposited at the feet of our beds, enough to fill our first box of business, which opened in our wake, twenty centimeters of snow dusted the city as much sugar.
few shovels at dawn to firm and sculpt our line before the holidays, so many aches and reason to daydream stupidly slow waltz before the flakes which fell continuously throughout the day during an ode to slowness, cutesy clichés and yet quite perfectly "nice", the height of bad taste, in this setting in white and gray. Smell the air scented forest, the cups out, find the gloves, putting on jackets, sweaters revive hidden on the highest shelf, where they otherwise never ventures scholar with a stack of chairs, smile listening to the muffled sound of snowflakes lapping on the umbrellas, taking handfuls snow, shivering, carburizing tea, protected behind glass, to agree a gentleness, a lemon pie, there before the show constant flakes always larger and more numerous ... Enjoy the mild heating, rail against the antenna that captures more regret the absence of a fireplace, play the hermit, working up to the point of time, the flaps open, windows closed ... I even came to regret that the tree has not yet made it into my living room, a disc of Christmas carols, some shortbread, turkey with chestnut and that was it ...
I take this little interlude to talk about the Monet exhibition at the Grand Palace which was certainly the harp on you ... two hours of queuing in the cold for two hours of exposure, such is the price to pay to see the works collected in a dédalle cleverly organized (and well lit ...) parts ...
Have a good weekend,
Lily
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| Claude Monet, The Magpie |
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