Summer Night’s Dream

Image of Yves


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She lies stretched out on the remains of the walnut tree which they had had to cut down in the spring.
All that was left of its superb bark were a few shreds gradually withering away. 

With her back resting between two stumps of branches, and her nose raised to the stars, she gazes at the clear sky of this mid-August night. 
Perhaps a shooting star will trace its curve on the dark arch studded with sparkling dots?
She will not hesitate to make a spontaneous wish; her head is full of them.

Deep in contemplation, her eyes now accustomed to the dark, a soft smile spreads over her calmed face. 
You could say that tonight, Nature is winking at her and cradling her in its arms.
A far-off nightingale makes a melancholy lament.
The crickets have fallen silent.
The wind lets out one more slight breath, soothing the burns from the hot sun of the hours that have just gone by.
The oak tree trembles and seems to yawn. 

The moon, huge tonight, is made of honey and brown sugar.

Translated by Wendy Cross


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