Friday, October 9
My beautiful love,
To make you forget those rainy days that we smear the heart these days, let me remind you that there are still sunny mornings.
The other day, good morning, I went to survey the large Portneuf wharf that stretches nearly a kilometer of river. If you had not published so comfortably buried in your sleep, I would have taken.
The sun had barely risen. A clear sky, no wind. The tide was low so that the tall grass of the flats were released on good depth.
It is primarily a siffleux (the dictionary would draw marmot) who welcomed me. He was motionless on the quayside, the watch I think, watching me pass. I threw a "Hi siffleux, is pretty morning huh?" like this, to be kind. He did not respond. Not even a little nod. Everyone in the county say hello while passing. Not him. Note that it does not get angry. At my age, it passes over these little things. Then, after all, perhaps although greetings to strangers are not part of the culture "whistler". Or perhaps he had not had breakfast and, like many bipeds I know it is not causing fasting.
Anyway, I continued my way in the right mood. By examining the flats, not that I see thee Blowin 'in the distance, dotted here and there, strange large flowers, a broken neck and planted on strong stems. It looked like these birds of paradise you buy at the florists, vivid colors and less because of my flowers were white flats. I hesitated between flowers and tips of branches where one of these flowers has suddenly "taken up" with his rod. My aquatic vegetation had suddenly transformed into a beautiful great blue herons. I knew there was a dock near the heron rookery. Besides, the other night, you remember, we had counted exactly twenty, perched on long poles of the long fishing eels bordering the dock. But I had never seen doing the fishing at the tall grass. I have not welcomed because they were too far and when they are fishing, herons are attentive and silent. Do not disturb.
All that was on the right side of the dock, but to the left, guess what. Seven or eight beautiful geese (whose official name is, as you know, the Canada goose) who politely directed toward me to greet me silently. They did not say a word, however, because, well educated as they are, they do not speak with his mouth full. And it was in their case, time for breakfast. They did not stop plunging into the water head they wear black at the end of their long necks to go eat bulrushes in the mud flats. It must be said that the Portneuf River joins the river left side of the wharf, and forms small ponds and small channels that allow geese, white geese and ducks to sail merrily.
Gulls were obviously go but I can not really say that their cries were to greet me, because as you know, these ladies are causing a lot. They are unrepentant gossips.
Some small birds came to do spins and somersaults under my nose chirping to attract attention, and I know you do not taxerais pretentious, I'd say I'm not far from believing that they made expressly for me these exercises extreme sport.
Crows also (which I'm always ready to forgive often put an end to my morning nap because they fill me with so much heart with joy when they announce the spring) were of the party, did not embarrassing to sing their concert nasal trumpets.
Moments of silence were filled by the incessant chirping of crickets.
But there was not only for the ears. There were also quite open to the eyes that morning. Across the river, a little to the left, stretching the point Plato a long walk in chilly water. Farther to the left, heading Health plunging into the river proudly. On the right is Cape Deschambault bathed in sunlight, which gives the reply. Behind the trees and pretty little houses lining the river and, later, the bell end of the church in Portland that pierces the landscape.
All this in the fresh air and pure a clear October morning. If you want my opinion, this country sure looks great in the land of Adam and Eve before the apple.
Tenderness
