A VOICE OF AURORA
A rain delicate covers the plain. he rains since the morning. Today I am going to at the meet of my editor, more far towards the city. I have completed my latest novel, a artwork who m h a s occupied a part of Winter. I have deposit previously my companion at his institute pedagogic. The fires tricolor in this small corner of Tarn do end more. he rains slowly as a embrace. Emeline me smiles tardily the a detour property woody. I am in effect writer. Perhaps since always. who know these things ? Since very long time in all case. I born knew not Emeline this great wife Brown the eyes clear, this sphinge discreet the seasons écarquillées of beads of fires the days holidays, the night secrets. I wait this meet with Paul by than I born am not certain of some passages remained blurry or evasive.
Finally the city, Toulouse whose the name resounds in me of the memories childhood, the sounds singing as my midday than I recall often.
- You seem nervous Yves ...
- He do East nothing just press…, this time…,
- However he me seemed ...
- No nothing, at soon !
Yves Barrere rang this day at two occasions the door of Paul Obster it opened.
- How go ! said Paul.
- Also good than possible…
- Enter !
The interview lasted two hours during which Yves presented and defended his manuscript specifying the Alterations likely at to bring the readjustments if thought good.
1
The book entitled A voice dawn was in many hundreds of pages Yves had drafted for the essential during the three month winter in her remains. Yves leave Paul.
- We is called, fit Paul.
- As usual, defended Yves.
This evening he waited Emeline at the exit of the institute so than of the drops water is ticked by slowly sure his windshield. he thought back at these climates changing the distant of his age man already Wall, these rains thin of spring splashed to rainbows. When he played child in his garden, sure her lawn under the willow at drag, at " to tackle " of the players imaginary the ball.
This garden, that of his childhood or his parents resident again preserve the charm outdated of the province French. With his hedges, his charcoals, his comings of flowers the two fir trees, he takes a calm a stately serenity it love contemplate. the more fort of her creation the imaginary himself joint the memory and the present as a source inspiration or more exactly a crucible than becomes so " the " garden. Because in all reflection all meditation or in dreaming we have necessarily a place, we keep a picture power plant as landmark at our dawdling creative. So, so " the "Garden, this garden which Yves draws of the resources, his breath writer and it recalls often at of the guests without there look in the conversation in his geometric shapes or of his recesses at as for instil more of life in this it appointed " her " Earth. For him and Emeline already reached at a age who imposed the respect, he should better of speak of Earth, this Earth loves shared or the life seat.
The tomorrow are always these secret attentions than is watchtower the beings and things ; a step bitterly conquered or a duty accomplished at insinuate. sometimes, however we agree a pause girded of beauty when is took the time of see mature at ourselves this wealth of without dry up of love in a unit of places, of times and very whose the destiny features. Also difficult it is of see take place this very Dear habit of the wonders a certainty unshakeable of self and of his entourage we ask of the contours the distant of the aspects stealth the to become, a surrounding at most close. It is this dream unappeased of the pink in garden qu'exclama Yves the long time of the days at Emeline, this ocean return. Her companion, Emeline, Professor of French had this wisdom of see spill the Creator seasoned without disturbing never this presence split mid-ideational Half nostalgic yet than real. The parents know this powerful stay of the hearts for born more divert this feeling who befits at their children ; Emeline respected by what shared this addiction.
This garden I the keep in me as my memories mixed constant and frayed at the time, this light childhood who born will shut more. I watchtower his detours I observe her cadence present. one born can again qu'agréger thereof until latest without feel the music of the days happy the firmament. Live these moments meet again her youth, rebirth each time of an immeasurable happiness without to cease of y believe. A melody who continues all man the for of her life as a lament secret and inalienable. This chant of blade, me Yves Barrere, I associates at my job, at my love, at my memory because if was of discern the creation, his resonances are always for a wife, of the relatives and a country. The spring of my actions writers I the appointed country childhood and they creep today in this garden or I have past my youth than I resituates of my garden age Wall. Yesterday, Paul Obster my recalled for me mean than my book was accepted. A Ray of Sun flushed covers my remains. The half season East increasing and beautiful. Tomorrow, I think I return at my garden, the or Angels sing if good…