Fifty-Seven

It was a field marked by the smells of summer. The sun had already set. The world was violet, bluish green and soft red. There was a woman standing in the tall grass, with her back towards me. She started to walk slowly, her movements suffused a scent of hay. A wind of whirling colours … Continue reading Fifty-Seven

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Fifty

I saw locks of hair attached to a line, blowing in the wind, like clothes to dry. There was also hair lying around on the floor in my mother's kitchen, and outside, all over the yard, half-covered by sand. Suddenly, they became butterflies and flew towards the cemetery where my father is buried. I wished … Continue reading Fifty