Everything changes in the nature around me and in our lives too. The lilacs begin to fade, the chestnut's trees all around here are now in their glory.
A week ago, it was 10 degree and cold, yesterday we had around 25 in the shade. Some go, others come back.
I know, I know.
My optimism, and great great mother's saying in me tells "all will be to better". That is what my head tells me. But I am still trembling in my guts. Indecision's in my heart.
I know also that most of my books have to go, and from some there is no problem. I take Hemingway's book about Paris and Bernard Show's theatre in all. Prevert's poèmes and my journals.
But then come those on the boarder: I want to read it again or not? How soon? Some choices are not so easy to make, but more easy then think about what will arrive ahead of the time.
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