Hello fellow readers,
For those reading from Toronto, I hope you are all dry and cozy at home.
For the first time in September, it poured as if the Gods were having a water balloon fight up there, showing no mercy for us little humans down here, running home before getting soaked to the bones.
Here's a little poem about the rain, about our routine and about a little bit more to get you all thinking.
{english text follows the french one}
From your girl out there,
towel wrapped around her wet hair.
C'est un matin pluvieux.
Les gouttes d'eau se hâtent de tomber telles que des enfants qui se dépêchent de sortir de l'école.
De temps en temps, des voitures passent dans les rues aussi lents que marchent les vieux.
C'est une ambiance où l'on perd le control.
Ou plutôt c'est un temps qui prend le control sur nous.
Nous qui nous perdons souvent dans la routine.
Nous qui nous maximise chaque minute pour ne pas perdre un sous.
Nous pensons tous être bénis d'une eau crystalline.
Mais qui sommes-nous vraiment pour penser une telle chose?
As we take our first step in September, it's already raining so soon.
Droplets of water rushing down just like school kids are rushing out of school.
From time to time, cars make their way by as slowly as walk these old prunes.
This atmosphere, one where everything seems cool.
Or rather, one that takes control on us.
Us, people who lose ourselves in our routine.
Us, people who push and get pushed so as not to miss a bus.
We all think we are pristine.