Snowy photograph and poem

Sans titre 1

As I look through the window
And lay my eyes on the snow,
I embrace my dreams of the unknown,
In which I travel alone.

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Ode à la neige

Ô cendres fragiles de l’hiver,
Vous qui dansez délicatement
Recouvrez la terre,
D’un immense manteau blanc.

Quel est votre pouvoir
Qui réchauffe son cœur ?
Dans le silence noir
Où il se meurt.

Ô cendres fugitives de l’hiver,
Dansez, valsez et ne cessez jamais.

Monday

Monday. Once again, I can’t sleep. It has lasted for a year, maybe more. I have tried many things, from classical music to yoga, to quieten myself down. Unsuccessfully. I have closed my eyes, I have thought of the past, I have thought of the future, I have imagined myself everywhere in the world, in the space, still nothing.

At the middle of the night, I abandon all hope of falling asleep.

Then comes the time when I wonder why I can’t fall asleep, and why the hell it always happens on Mondays. I have had time to think about this but the question remains without any satisfying answer.

When I have given up on this question, I still have a few hours before sunrise. I close my eyes for the last time, hoping that I would fall asleep. What a ridiculous idea!

And I am seventeen again. Life is wonderful : no responsabilities, I feel like the world is mine. I wear spectacles with no lens. The snow is still falling. Through the window, I can see the fields. They disappear under the white flakes, meekly.

Me, when I was seventeen