insomnia.

I try to drag in other landscapes in the middle of my sheets...

This morning, the smell of fog, birds singing, and the delicious perfume of an acacia tree full of delicate yellow balls.
sweet and sour.

explosion of spices at the market.

Hot tar just been spread to the return.

a green-blue dragonfly.
butterflies among the trees, butterflies playing in the grass, butterflies that flutter in the sand.

Hot black tea, Earl Grey with milk.
A look at the fresh vanilla to think about a flan with coconut and yoghurts.
Some fresh fruits in colorful salad with a little honey.

The raging sea, high tide.
Turbid water to the waist by pulling the inflatable boat with my baby in it.
3 small bats at sunset.

Wind.
Winter comes.
the sky is pink, singing in the casuarina trees along the water, the clouds are dancing shadows on the hills.

My happiness.





And I try to drag in other landscapes in the middle of my sheets.
My thoughts are far...

I think at the beginning of autumn, the smell of humus, moss, fresh water of a lake or river, a pontoon ...
the branches of trees that hint at the stars;
the heat of a fire, the beauty of the flames, the crackling of wood, the melody of the night when the trees quiver, hiding murmurs and cries of creatures ...
hot tea in the early morning, the toes in the water, and light that runs more quickly to the surface.

I think to myself overwhelmed by what is called wrongly silence.
I think to hide in this symphony of nature, to cuddle me, to let me slip, to let me capture.
I still want to close my eyes, open my arms, my hands, feel the breeze between my fingers, running like a child and hear the flock of crows that opened me last year...
I still feel my heart beating like crazy, me surrounded by trees that have lived so much, that I am moved to tears.
I still feel that. Again...

I want him to know how I feel it, what it provokes in me, and tangled his fingers with mine, his breath on my neck, the vibrant silence at that time, be as magical as obvious ...