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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2008-12-24 | [Acest text ar trebui citit în english] |
The rays of the sun
are pierce the shining opening of the meadow. Two young girls are resting under the avaricious shadow of a tree. The Whispering dialogue between them is refused to me. Diaphanous clothing, flowers graciously holding in their hands, delicately colored, stunningly delicate! White flowers, Crocuses, Blue dream, Sleigh-bells? And everything made happy by the golden sun, enveloped in lyricism, discrete sensuality... The past falling above the present moment without stopping. Around me a vibration of warm air, a discreet perfume of petals, a thought rustle...dream-trance? I breathe the strange air, I live the given moments, i belong! I wait with religiosity the end of the confession... Translucent angel's wings, light, summoning, I go towards the running path which flutters like a scarf in the wind... I walk among the grass and flowers, rarely stepping, on the meandering ribbons of the meadow; The gleaming opening - sun the sun of Pierre-Auguste Renoir. What warm resonance!
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