mercredi 2 mai 2012

Leave …

One morning, you leave. Well before the dawn, well before the song  of the cock or the first colloquium of the dogs of farm. It is even the black night. Nothing moves. It is hardly, if, under the double fire of your lighthouses, come out here and there the silent silhouette of a tree, a dark mass of a forest, then those of the fields.
Behind the windscreen, signs follow one another, ways turn off. No matter the destination. It is a question only of driving, of driving  still, so far as your desire, until the forgetting of everything and yourself pulls you.
Under the hood, the engine hums, windscreen wiper evacuate big black drops of dust and earth. There are no images more stupid, more commonplace than these immense grounds fringed by trees grey and sensitive to cold, than these naked, a little bit sour skies. Nevertheless, it is very there that everything begins. Once the city behind you, everything is possible. Already, you forget the rain, quite in these straight(right) and clear main lines, these pieces of earth were emptied of their wrinkles.
O. You give up the car on the parking lot to rise towards the first come alley. Yesterday, the city was empty. Today, it returns in its center a small busy crowd. Nevertheless, most of the stores are closed : it is on Monday. You push a point up to the cathedral, return towards the big place  to hold you a few moments under a hall, a hooked roof, a rickety gutter. Almost all the doors are tattooed by medals; you pursue your road, in the course of streets, without the other concern than to slide you with most just possible in the respectable cave of the city. The old woman gives himself fast, as an easy girl and you are grateful to it of it hospitality.
And suddenly, everything vacillates. You took what there was to take : the dance of the river, the cool shadow of the labyrinths of streets, but better still - and this for your personal fable - the inmost sentiment to be for the world, the only and eternally unstable star. Around the city spreads the immense net of roads. You feel now the need to roll without haste, to avoid the impersonal mapping of highways.
Through the sparkling gauze of clouds, the sun flashes as a badly settled headlight. No chance of the credit note to one at the moment. It remains decreasing, competing for the sky in the wind and in the rain. But it is unimportant. Propped up at the bottom of the seat, you let the car go its train. It is hardly if you look at this sea of black grooves on each side of this road which runs till bottom of the horizon. The hour is for the supreme vacancy, the unspeakable life. Here you are loosened from any tie, the spirit going up towards a clear paradise, your senses numbed by the heat of the cockpit(passenger compartment) and the humming of the engine.
But already, another urban area appears. Getting away from the first crossroads, you turn in succession towards the forest. Many broken trees sprinkle the wet ditches, quite full of dead leaves. The following village is dominated by a big place and a market hall all around of which come to wind in successive shells of big villas calmed under the ivy. After a fast tour of recognition, you leave the car to fall on the first come stony bench. You are exhausted. It is now more than five hours and it is very there your last stopover. You can thus slide of all your length on the bench, with impunity, under the indifferent eye of swans.
In the sky, clouds blush and lengthen, a rest of sun falls and makes iridescent of its shaving fires Loing. Taken by the current, waters derive by swirling, by dragging in their running of the splints of dead wood, brightness of broken light. In the last heat of this sky finally undone, you look, fascinated, this game of reflections that come to tear, here and there, the flash of lighting white with a wing of swan, the black silhouette of a duck.
One hour passes. You listen to, watching you do not know what, as inside a room suddenly emptied of its occupants, a room where go out, always more low, sounds of footsteps. You still listen to until hear nothing more. Everything keeps silent at the moment. The night fell, taking under your eyes the last immovable day fires. A peace unspeakable as a long white and quiet dream rises in you. Now you can bring in.


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