Last trails of rain are slowly fading away, and the soil, little by little, makes provisions for the chasms of banishment and the madness of a ruthless sun and its warm embattling. That’s the pendulum of nature, a perpetual writhing between hot and cold, smiles and tears, sun and rain, sky and earth… and life is adamantly and eternally linked to the swing. This season, rain has wonderfully abode by sweet evocations of the past, and tasty chocolate, and a wonderful deluge of green skin for the trees, and the realm of water, and elder memories of a boy and his dad and his dogs, and a likely infinite enumeration of happiness. Now the sun will take away all of these soothing remembrances, bringing along the glance of Apollo and the sugar of Syzygium malaccense and the kingdom of bugs, setting aside any trace of pain, casting new life everywhere. Therein, in any derelict breaches of the soul, the new sun rays will sprinkle further seeds of hope and joy, bracing for more adventures, laughter, and vapors of cocoa.
Rain, however, went back on my books, sprouting, without noticing, a conspiracy of mold. To forfend the library we’ll have to iron out these unexpected visitors, this seemingly last trace of rain.
And, after the rain, time to get back to the grind, to the music, to the mathematics, to the chocolat blanc, to the beauty of life.