When the beautiful season comes and the dough for the summer edition of Sheep started going up in the oven, I felt like I was writing to a much larger audience, speaking to a different, much larger audience. I feel it is my duty to find words that smell like wild rosebushes growing by the river, to use expressions that flow like spray on the crest of the waves. To tell all these visitors the beauty of the country I live in, to show them my unconditional love for its sights, its smells and its people.
My first emotions were immersed in the water of St. Lawrence. The salt air is what makes me, the salt of sea life turning green in my veins keeps the blood from swimming; it is the sound of the waves falling as from a reed, with its lame, continuous, repeated notes, as they vibrate against the fine sand-stones, with their frequency, their rhythm, this endless return of the same motif, it is this beat of the rocky shore that imposes itself on my own heart, giving it its cadence, the tone and the tempo that will fill my life .
Sunsets of infinite beauty, a part of eternity and eternity delicately placed on the waters; lightning that shatters the stormy sky, like the sword of love’s sorrows that pierces the heart; a tempestuous sea, of fury, like those painful crises which pass over us and turn our souls to and fro, bringing all the mires of life to the surface; sea of oil burned by the rose of the dawn, in this blessed hour that nature is his own.
This is all I wish for these people who passed so quickly, who in just a few days try to keep what was not assimilated in a lifetime. Doesn’t doubt invade us when we think about what we are reduced to in existence, these cemented restrictions we impose on ourselves, this money-cooled hardness that clings to our skin and prevents us from living? What have we done in the spirit of the village, the parallel days that allow us to watch over each other, to build together and to wonder at night what is built in our community? See what nature has left. Still beautiful, still beautiful, speaks to the soul like a father or mother speaking to his children. Why listen to all their nonsense, this crazy wind that comes from the grave and wants to take everything? Why not fight in the name of these living beings who have been there for a long time and who are now wondering if they did the right thing in trusting us?
Yes, the fin whale that dives in front of our eyes and the killer whale that erupts in a geyser of splashes, all that is amazing, breathtaking. But there’s more to life than a Walt Disney blockbuster, marine life doesn’t just exist based on pretty holiday pictures posted on Instagram. The white blast of the porpoise tracing its line of coke above the waves, this solemn seal like a notary with its imperial mustache, this lively mackerel with scales that sparkle like of silver spangles sprouting from the tip of the fairy’s wand stars of acid, dizzying sight! Diversity, originality, excellence.
Yes, but these species seem to be created for our sole amusement, we show them the way. We are about to lift the curtain on their exploits. We pump oxygen into their gills, under their nostrils, under their nostrils, we heat the water in their bathtub as if, as the great universal steward, we are given the authority to command what is good, and above all what is evil in all creation. on this damn planet.
I’m sorry. It’s the holidays. Sometimes I forget who I’m talking to, and what time of year it is. I forgot that this edition of Sheep blooming under the parasols and on the tables on the terraces. We still have many worries, the gas pump swelling our savings and the cash register at the grocery store swelling like lung edema.
it’s ok It’s just that we hope we can offer you more beauty and diversity when you return next summer.