Monday, April 21, 2008

Spring in the Aveyron

It is spring. . .

It's raining here for days. The sky is not even gray, it's just nothing. A colorless gray mass where only water poures from. My laundry will not dry anymore. The earth is soaked. The tulips are broken and even the weeds will not stop.

Even Ruud, our ray of sunshine in the house, in the greatest misery he always has one answer: "It'll be okay," he me who gives me a box of CDs give with a bow around it or flowers, he who never writes about about anything else but computers and the Internet, even he wrote a poem about this dreary summer:

Yes, I think i've had enough.
Where is the sun, which burned our skins?
That balmy spring breeze, I can't feel it now.
The driveway is a slide, the garden is al wet and muddy.
That hot summer sun, when will we ever get it? Well?
Or should I be shivering from the cold all summer?
It is so sad, I'm almost makes me cry,
but luckily I've got a little house to hide.

Ruud.

We just want to a small cottage, not in the Netherlands even though it is summer there now. We want a small cottage. In South-South-South of France.

posted by Maartje Heymans at 23:33  |  send a comment

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