Colors / couleurs

Publié le par miss link

Two very different pieces in English and in French for this one; Enjoy!!

Colors shift through my mind. I remember.
The yellow of the sunflower fields. The patches of daffodils in the park around the house when I was little. The sheep ate every blade of grass or herb or plant, but they left the daffodils untouched. Probably bitter, or poisonous.
I remember the orangy yellow of the sunset light in the summer, raking light on the grass and fields, and the way it exploded on dark clouds after an afternoon thunderstorm.
I remember the dark blue of the summer skies, that I watched lying by the pool with my feet in the water.
I remember the darkness of those summer nights, lit by nothing but stars and the milky way, in that place away from everything.
Bliss. Colors in their essence. All the greens of the garden blending together into some enchanted forest I loved to play in.
Sitting in the plum tree reading. Imagining stories and adventures from that tree with the two branches shaped into a perfect seat for the 12 year old me.
It is half dead now. The branches have been cut, there is no seat anymore. It still bears plums, but the vegetation that has grown all around makes it almost impossible to pick them.
That time has passed. There is no going back to the summers of my childhood. I am an adult now. I have responsibilities. Freedom tastes different as an adult. It is more in the mind, less in the ice creams and afternoons in the pool. More in the writing and creating, less in the mornings woken up by the sound of the lawn mower.
Summers feel different. My parents' house feels different. It is not mine anymore. It is not quite home anymore.
I have to create my home. With the people I have chosen, not the people I was born with. And that's a mourning and a joy all at once.
My family stays. It always will. Even long after death.
It is the people, and the love, that made me. That shaped me, until I was old enough to choose, and some time after that.
Fond memories still shape me. They taught me love. Sometimes I didn't understand it. But I know that love binds us no matter how much we judge, how much we disagree, how much we fear.
We belong to each other because we remember. We have a common culture, a sort of love net we can always go back to.
Yet now is time to create on our own. We, the children.
We need to find our own path. To start creating, stop imitating.
Sometimes the way we received or perceived love is not the way we want to give it now. And so it's scary. We have to jump off the cliff and try and see if it will work. If we will find what nurtures us now. What will nurture our new home. We need to move forwad, knowing our family always stays in our back.
What do I want to create? How do I want to move forward, with the people I have chosen? How do I want to move forward with me?
I remember the colors. Now I create new colors. And I am deeply grateful for all of it.

Les couleurs défilent devant mes yeux étourdis. J'ai du mal à reprendre conscience. Mais que s'est-il donc passé?
Je ne me rappelle qque du trajet du travail à mon domicile. Je me rappelle avoir inséré la clé dans la serrure, ne pas avoir réussi à débloquer le loquet, et là, trou noir.
Et maintenant où suis-je? Mes yeux ont du mal à focaliser, je vois un peu trouble. L'endroit est sombre. Humide.
J'ai froid. Je tatonne autour de moi. ll semble que je sois couchée sur un canapé. Je ne vois aucune source de lumière autour. Suis-je encore vivante? Une chose est sûre, j'ai un mal de crâne épouvantable. J'essaie encore de me souvenir de ce qui a pu se passer. Si seulement j'arrivais à trouver des indices dans ma mémoire. N'importe quoi qui puisse m'aider à comprendre l'endroit où je suis. Mais non. Rien. Aucune explication.
Ah, j'entends des pas.
Une clé dans une serrure.
Une porte s'ouvre...

Publié dans Ecriture

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