A SUMMER LIKE ANY OTHER

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The sacred star crushes its rays on my too thin skin, it is 4 pm.

On the hot asphalt road I meet a little donkey, I approach it is quite young but the soiled hairs of its nostrils disgust me I try to think of something else. His eyes, which fix me, are clear like the water in the wash-house near the church. I pull up fresh grass, I blame myself, it doesn't need it, I don't need it, I have just destroyed an eco system, no doubt, but I continue. I like to feed animals I have the impression that they will love me faster this way, I have been hoping for 40 years now.

On leaving I take a deep breath, I love the smell of manure, it's strange but it comforts me. Life is so beautiful when nature is everywhere around us, salt water drips on my body, I bring my forearm to my lips and I lick the hollow formed at the level of my elbow, I swallow while closing my eyes, I love that.

A strong man spades the earth further with a large blow of a metal tool, he splits the ground with his bare arms, it is beautiful, the sun is reflected on the blade and dazzles me, he apologizes when he sees me carrying my hands in front of my hazel eyes. When I greet him, his face lights up and reveals a calm, toothless smile.

Aesthetics no longer matter as soon as you leave the capital, it's superfluous.

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A few more meters and I will arrive at the flea market, a beige and rusty roadside warehouse where people come to drop off their old junk that I love so much. In front, bikes are lining up hoping for a repair that will never happen, they will have to be bought as is.

While wicker deckchairs make my eye, behind the shutters I dream of old sheets and beautiful curtains, damaged dyes, lace tablecloths bursting with stories of the countryside, those that take nights whole by the fireplace, those we tell each other on summer evenings stretched out in the garden. Mixture of soap smells,

kitchen and wood fire ...

It's closed, I'll be back tomorrow.