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!