This morning the landscape had the appearance of a novel decoration.
Under a gray sky seemed clear that stealing the white one foam evaporated, some leaves fell on a neglected lawn, a green desert dotted with fine shades. On a walk in the grass still wet with dew, sat with a lady, dressed all in black, her long black hair, slightly wavy, falling on his shoulders slightly hunched. She seemed to look, not far from the angle of the march, which came up, a cat, it's even black, and went slowly turning his back like a disillusioned vagabond. The pale light of dawn on opening them like a small projector room, and I passed as if I was a dancer in the distance, which undermine approaching the scene. I was then left the scene, and continued my path as I would have walked in the recesses of a book page, watching the thin sheets of rain, tired of a whole summer.
And then I came back in the real world, suddenly, as if suddenly I closed a book that would have entranced.
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