Page 12
then, inhabited by some mysterious prescience, forks to the left. It is there that he came, I am sure. I feel his fury creative that passes through the ages. I finally arrives at the top of the slope, m sit with a huge fir tree when, suddenly, I am uprooted, quickly, disproportionately quickly. My eyes follow the garden which is leaking to the Infinite. The yellow of the aisle is diluted in the green.
The landscape is drawn, the path, benches, women, the visitor and its Gazette, the barrier is damaged in a vacuum, the songs of passerines amplify and then extinguish, while I am swept away such a straw. - Missen ?
A dizzy m assaults. I winks a little of the eyes, me recovering slowly, replace my head: I the meaning strangely backwards. - Missen ? A hand me gently press the shoulder. I look back, slowly, left, while the tiles seizes once again of the arches of my feet. I take support from the wall, hagarde, trying to enter the inept gibberish that m address the intruder a little worried. On what planet do I landed? What is this strange feeling of sinking, loss of landmarks?
- Zal het niet? Missen ? In a foggy searing intensity, I returned to finally this skin that I had deserted: Of a poor facial expression, I assure the grand Gaillard sheepishly that I am well, that I certainly have been a victim of the ambient heat and apologize for me not to be concerned about the imminent time of closure. Then, throwing a last look at the table "The entry of the public garden in Arles," I greet hastily, but the most graciously that it m is permitted without be ridiculous, the custodian of the Museum of EDE. - And what is the rain? We departed to seven... The day rose painfully on the Desert Campaign, a Pale Sun, almost sick as a winter without end... Yes, we departed to seven, that morning. An idea of Claire, haunting; a stubborn idea as the cold who had not left the plain since two months: a hiking, because that was what we were doing previously, when the winter was battering on us and our houses, a hike in the frozen landscape. I said to clear that it was a folly, that winters had become so rigorous that we would have done better to remain near the fire, warmly installed under our blankets, instead to go locking us in this nature icy, hostile, almost dangerous. But she had not wanted to waive, arguing that the weather was favorable and that we might regret later if we do not now, a last time. Pierre was going to leave us, we knew a long time ago. It would install if far, soignerait both wound and sorrows, if far from us that it would not. Ever. And this, as we all knew. Then we departed with our equipment, our dreams and hopes that fled yet as the years spent: a strangeness that resembled the Walk the world and of life. When we arrived at the peak of the cooler, I heard the voice of Clear. It howled: - Still a effort!!! We are almost there...
- It must not be yelling, clear! It is dangerous! - Nothing is dangerous, Pierre... you should know that better than me! Suddenly there was a flash, intense light and brief which we surprised all, except Clear. She added, to the address of Peter: "You see, it was like a stroke of lightning... ". And her gaze darkens suddenly, sweeping the face of Sophie, then that of Pierre. I watched this scene, almost incredulous: I suspected for a long time it was brewing something between Claire and Pierre, without the knowledge of Sophie. All of us suspected as much, to tell the truth, with the exception of Sophie, the wife of caring, faithful and gullible if... We doubted all and we had nothing said, assuming naively that the departure of Pierre would put an end to its connection with clear, if the connection there was. Max and Pierre said nothing. I suddenly became the floor, with a fixed idea in mind: calm down the game. - We will all refit. We are going to make a stop, even here, ask our bags and we appease. All, and thou also, clear. Claire stared at me in a curious way: there was something unsaid in his eyes, something that I do not recognize, something that frightened me without that I know why. I would venture to say that it seemed strange, almost owned? Was this the lack of oxygen, due to the altitude, which gave me the impression of a thick fog enveloping us suddenly? The impression that the Immaculate landscape rocked, that the horizon is peeling away? Yes, a sensation curious, as if we had lost, unable to find our path... But what path we should take, in the fair? Then, we sat down, as well as, cluttered with our equipment too heavy. And the silence settled, barely interrupted by our breaths stutter. I felt that I had suddenly more strength to continue, continue our road or turn back, that I became indifferent. We were there, sitting in the frozen snow: five persons and two dogs, seven in total, but I felt alone suddenly, if only, almost foreign to that surrounded me. I had so hoped that Clear Track me, instead of stone... And what is it could well find him? Max also be silent. That Could it add? Scan a drama as it removes the snow, which obstructs the Not a door? At the end of a long time, Pierre proposed to return, and arose. It is then that the dogs began to barking, a sort of long howl, more and more tenuous, and then a moan almost desperate and which seemed no longer to finish. Claire said: - Dogs the know... T remember-tu ma Mie, t remember you? From the fall to the winter, the passage défleurit the season, feathers and ticking meek dress the scratches of eiderdown. To this denial of waiting cautious of the harvests of the past, fleet to the wind of yesterday the Snowy wave. Mouds the grain from the chaff, cache heart of thy regrets, blandices, calico whispered, cracks of the slap time thy face crumpled of indignities insolent. then, inhabited by some mysterious prescience, forks to the left. It is there that he came, I am sure. I feel his fury creative that passes through the ages. I finally arrives at the top of the slope, m sit with a huge fir tree when, suddenly, I am uprooted, quickly, disproportionately quickly. My eyes follow the garden which is leaking to the Infinite. The yellow of the aisle is diluted in the green. The landscape is drawn, the path, benches, women, the visitor and its Gazette, the barrier is damaged in a vacuum, the songs of passerines amplify and then extinguish, while I am swept away such a straw. - Missen ? A dizzy m assaults. I winks a little of the eyes, me recovering slowly, replace my head: I the meaning strangely backwards. - Missen ? A hand me gently press the shoulder. I look back, slowly, left, while the tiles seizes once again of the arches of my feet. I take support from the wall, hagarde, trying to enter the inept gibberish that m address the intruder a little worried. On what planet do I landed? What is this strange feeling of sinking, loss of landmarks? - Zal het niet? Missen ? In a foggy searing intensity, I returned to finally this skin that I had deserted: Of a poor facial expression, I assure the grand Gaillard sheepishly that I am well, that I certainly have been a victim of the ambient heat and apologize for me not to be concerned about the imminent time of closure. Then, throwing a last look at the table "The entry of the public garden in Arles," I greet hastily, but the most graciously that it m is permitted without be ridiculous, the custodian of the Museum of EDE. - And what is the rain? We departed to seven... The day rose painfully on the Desert Campaign, a Pale Sun, almost sick as a winter without end... Yes, we departed to seven, that morning. An idea of Claire, haunting; a stubborn idea as the cold who had not left the plain since two months: a hiking, because that was what we were doing previously, when the winter was battering on us and our houses, a hike in the frozen landscape.
I said to clear that it was a folly, that winters had become so rigorous that we would have done better to remain near the fire, warmly installed under our blankets, instead to go locking us in this nature icy, hostile, almost dangerous. But she had not wanted to waive, arguing that the weather was favorable and that we might regret later if we do not now, a last time. Pierre was going to leave us, we knew a long time ago. It would install if far, soignerait both wound and sorrows, if far from us that it would not. Ever. And this, as we all knew. Then we departed with our equipment, our dreams and hopes that fled yet as the years spent: a strangeness that resembled the Walk the world and of life. When we arrived at the peak of the cooler, I heard the voice of Clear. It howled:
- Still a effort!!! We are almost there... - It must not be yelling, clear! It is dangerous! - Nothing is dangerous, Pierre... you should know that better than me! Suddenly there was a flash, intense light and brief which we surprised all, except Clear. She added, to the address of Peter: "You see, it was like a stroke of lightning... ". And her gaze darkens suddenly, sweeping the face of Sophie, then that of Pierre. I watched this scene, almost incredulous: I suspected for a long time it was brewing something between Claire and Pierre, without the knowledge of Sophie. All of us suspected as much, to tell the truth, with the exception of Sophie, the wife of caring, faithful and gullible if... We doubted all and we had nothing said, assuming naively that the departure of Pierre would put an end to its connection with clear, if the connection there was. Max and Pierre said nothing. I suddenly became the floor, with a fixed idea in mind: calm down the game.
- We will all refit. We are going to make a stop, even here, ask our bags and we appease. All, and thou also, clear. Claire stared at me in a curious way: there was something unsaid in his eyes, something that I do not recognize, something that frightened me without that I know why. I would venture to say that it seemed strange, almost owned? Was this the lack of oxygen, due to the altitude, which gave me the impression of a thick fog enveloping us suddenly? The impression that the Immaculate landscape rocked, that the horizon is peeling away? Yes, a sensation curious, as if we had lost, unable to find our path... But what path we should take, in the fair? Then, we sat down, as well as, cluttered with our equipment too heavy. And the silence settled, barely interrupted by our breaths stutter. I felt that I had suddenly more strength to continue, continue our road or turn back, that I became indifferent. We were there, sitting in the frozen snow: five persons and two dogs, seven in total, but I felt alone suddenly, if only, almost foreign to that surrounded me. I had so hoped that Clear Track me, instead of stone... And what is it could well find him? Max also be silent. That Could it add? Scan a drama as it removes the snow, which obstructs the Not a door? At the end of a long time, Pierre proposed to return, and arose. It is then that the dogs began to barking, a sort of long howl, more and more tenuous, and then a moan almost desperate and which seemed no longer to finish. Claire said: - Dogs the know... T remember-tu ma Mie, t remember you? From the fall to the winter, the passage défleurit the season, feathers and ticking meek dress the scratches of eiderdown. To this denial of waiting cautious of the harvests of the past, fleet to the wind of yesterday the Snowy wave. Mouds the grain from the chaff, cache heart of thy regrets, blandices, calico whispered, cracks of the slap time thy face crumpled of indignities insolent. then, inhabited by some mysterious prescience, forks to the left. It is there that he came, I am sure. I feel his fury creative that passes through the ages. I finally arrives at the top of the slope, m sit with a huge fir tree when, suddenly, I am uprooted, quickly, disproportionately quickly. My eyes follow the garden which is leaking to the Infinite. The yellow of the aisle is diluted in the green. The landscape is drawn, the path, benches, women, the visitor and its Gazette, the barrier is damaged in a vacuum, the songs of passerines amplify and then extinguish, while I am swept away such a straw. - Missen ? A dizzy m assaults. I winks a little of the eyes, me recovering slowly, replace my head: I the meaning strangely backwards. - Missen ?
A hand me gently press the shoulder. I look back, slowly, left, while the tiles seizes once again of the arches of my feet. I take support from the wall, hagarde, trying to enter the inept gibberish that m address the intruder a little worried. On what planet do I landed? What is this strange feeling of sinking, loss of landmarks? - Zal het niet? Missen ? In a foggy searing intensity, I returned to finally this skin that I had deserted: Of a poor facial expression, I assure the grand Gaillard sheepishly that I am well, that I certainly have been a victim of the ambient heat and apologize for me not to be concerned about the imminent time of closure. Then, throwing a last look at the table "The entry of the public garden in Arles," I greet hastily, but the most graciously that it m is permitted without be ridiculous, the custodian of the Museum of EDE. - And what is the rain? We departed to seven... The day rose painfully on the Desert Campaign, a Pale Sun, almost sick as a winter without end... Yes, we departed to seven, that morning. An idea of Claire, haunting; a stubborn idea as the cold who had not left the plain since two months: a hiking, because that was what we were doing previously, when the winter was battering on us and our houses, a hike in the frozen landscape. I said to clear that it was a folly, that winters had become so rigorous that we would have done better to remain near the fire, warmly installed under our blankets, instead to go locking us in this nature icy, hostile, almost dangerous. But she had not wanted to waive, arguing that the weather was favorable and that we might regret later if we do not now, a last time. Pierre was going to leave us, we knew a long time ago. It would install if far, soignerait both wound and sorrows, if far from us that it would not. Ever. And this, as we all knew. Then we departed with our equipment, our dreams and hopes that fled yet as the years spent: a strangeness that resembled the Walk the world and of life. When we arrived at the peak of the cooler, I heard the voice of Clear. It howled: - Still a effort!!! We are almost there...
- It must not be yelling, clear! It is dangerous! - Nothing is dangerous, Pierre... you should know that better than me! Suddenly there was a flash, intense light and brief which we surprised all, except Clear. She added, to the address of Peter: "You see, it was like a stroke of lightning... ". And her gaze darkens suddenly, sweeping the face of Sophie, then that of Pierre. I watched this scene, almost incredulous: I suspected for a long time it was brewing something between Claire and Pierre, without the knowledge of Sophie. All of us suspected as much, to tell the truth, with the exception of Sophie, the wife of caring, faithful and gullible if... We doubted all and we had nothing said, assuming naively that the departure of Pierre would put an end to its connection with clear, if the connection there was. Max and Pierre said nothing. I suddenly became the floor, with a fixed idea in mind: calm down the game. - We will all refit. We are going to make a stop, even here, ask our bags and we appease. All, and thou also, clear. Claire stared at me in a curious way: there was something unsaid in his eyes, something that I do not recognize, something that frightened me without that I know why. I would venture to say that it seemed strange, almost owned? Was this the lack of oxygen, due to the altitude, which gave me the impression of a thick fog enveloping us suddenly? The impression that the Immaculate landscape rocked, that the horizon is peeling away? Yes, a sensation curious, as if we had lost, unable to find our path... But what path we should take, in the fair? Then, we sat down, as well as, cluttered with our equipment too heavy. And the silence settled, barely interrupted by our breaths stutter. I felt that I had suddenly more strength to continue, continue our road or turn back, that I became indifferent. We were there, sitting in the frozen snow: five persons and two dogs, seven in total, but I felt alone suddenly, if only, almost foreign to that surrounded me. I had so hoped that Clear Track me, instead of stone... And what is it could well find him? Max also be silent. That Could it add? Scan a drama as it removes the snow, which obstructs the Not a door? At the end of a long time, Pierre proposed to return, and arose. It is then that the dogs began to barking, a sort of long howl, more and more tenuous, and then a moan almost desperate and which seemed no longer to finish. Claire said:
- Dogs the know... T remember-tu ma Mie, t remember you? From the fall to the winter, the passage défleurit the season, feathers and ticking meek dress the scratches of eiderdown. To this denial of waiting cautious of the harvests of the past, fleet to the wind of yesterday the Snowy wave. Mouds the grain from the chaff, cache heart of thy regrets, blandices, calico whispered, cracks of the slap time thy face crumpled of indignities insolent. then, inhabited by some mysterious prescience, forks to the left. It is there that he came, I am sure. I feel his fury creative that passes through the ages. I finally arrives at the top of the slope, m sit with a huge fir tree when, suddenly, I am uprooted, quickly, disproportionately quickly. My eyes follow the garden which is leaking to the Infinite. The yellow of the aisle is diluted in the green. The landscape is drawn, the path, benches, women, the visitor and its Gazette, the barrier is damaged in a vacuum, the songs of passerines amplify and then extinguish, while I am swept away such a straw. - Missen ?
A dizzy m assaults. I winks a little of the eyes, me recovering slowly, replace my head: I the meaning strangely backwards. - Missen ? A hand me gently press the shoulder. I look back, slowly, left, while the tiles seizes once again of the arches of my feet. I take support from the wall, hagarde, trying to enter the inept gibberish that m address the intruder a little worried. On what planet do I landed? What is this strange feeling of sinking, loss of landmarks? - Zal het niet? Missen ? In a foggy searing intensity, I returned to finally this skin that I had deserted:
Of a poor facial expression, I assure the grand Gaillard sheepishly that I am well, that I certainly have been a victim of the ambient heat and apologize for me not to be concerned about the imminent time of closure. Then, throwing a last look at the table "The entry of the public garden in Arles," I greet hastily, but the most graciously that it m is permitted without be ridiculous, the custodian of the Museum of EDE. And what is the rain? We departed to seven... The day rose painfully on the Desert Campaign, a Pale Sun, almost sick as a winter without end... Yes, we departed to seven, that morning. An idea of Claire, haunting; a stubborn idea as the cold who had not left the plain since two months: a hiking, because that was what we were doing previously, when the winter was battering on us and our houses, a hike in the frozen landscape. I said to clear that it was a folly, that winters had become so rigorous that we would have done better to remain near the fire, warmly installed under our blankets, instead to go locking us in this nature icy, hostile, almost dangerous. But she had not wanted to waive, arguing that the weather was favorable and that we might regret later if we do not now, a last time. Pierre was going to leave us, we knew a long time ago. It would install if far, soignerait both wound and sorrows, if far from us that it would not. Ever. And this, as we all knew. Then we departed with our equipment, our dreams and hopes that fled yet as the years spent: a strangeness that resembled the Walk the world and of life. When we arrived at the peak of the cooler, I heard the voice of Clear. It howled: - Still a effort!!! We are almost there... - It must not be yelling, clear! It is dangerous! - Nothing is dangerous, Pierre... you should know that better than me! Suddenly there was a flash, intense light and brief which we surprised all, except Clear. She added, to the address of Peter: "You see, it was like a stroke of lightning... ". And her gaze darkens suddenly, sweeping the face of Sophie, then that of Pierre. I watched this scene, almost incredulous: I suspected for a long time it was brewing something between Claire and Pierre, without the knowledge of Sophie. All of us suspected as much, to tell the truth, with the exception of Sophie, the wife of caring, faithful and gullible if... We doubted all and we had nothing said, assuming naively that the departure of Pierre would put an end to its connection with clear, if the connection there was. Max and Pierre said nothing. I suddenly became the floor, with a fixed idea in mind: calm down the game. - We will all refit. We are going to make a stop, even here, ask our bags and we appease. All, and thou also, clear. Claire stared at me in a curious way: there was something unsaid in his eyes, something that I do not recognize, something that frightened me without that I know why. I would venture to say that it seemed strange, almost owned? Was this the lack of oxygen, due to the altitude, which gave me the impression of a thick fog enveloping us suddenly? The impression that the Immaculate landscape rocked, that the horizon is peeling away? Yes, a sensation curious, as if we had lost, unable to find our path... But what path we should take, in the fair? Then, we sat down, as well as, cluttered with our equipment too heavy. And the silence settled, barely interrupted by our breaths stutter. I felt that I had suddenly more strength to continue, continue our road or turn back, that I became indifferent. We were there, sitting in the frozen snow: five persons and two dogs, seven in total, but I felt alone suddenly, if only, almost foreign to that surrounded me. I had so hoped that Clear Track me, instead of stone... And what is it could well find him? Max also be silent. That Could it add? Scan a drama as it removes the snow, which obstructs the Not a door? At the end of a long time, Pierre proposed to return, and arose. It is then that the dogs began to barking, a sort of long howl, more and more tenuous, and then a moan almost desperate and which seemed no longer to finish. Claire said: - Dogs the know...
T remember-tu ma Mie, t remember you? From the fall to the winter, the passage défleurit the season, feathers and ticking meek dress the scratches of eiderdown. To this denial of waiting cautious of the harvests of the past, fleet to the wind of yesterday the Snowy wave. Mouds the grain from the chaff, cache heart of thy regrets, blandices, calico whispered, cracks of the slap time thy face crumpled of indignities insolent. then, inhabited by some mysterious prescience, forks to the left. It is there that he came, I am sure. I feel his fury creative that passes through the ages. I finally arrives at the top of the slope, m sit with a huge fir tree when, suddenly, I am uprooted, quickly, disproportionately quickly. My eyes follow the garden which is leaking to the Infinite. The yellow of the aisle is diluted in the green. The landscape is drawn, the path, benches, women, the visitor and its Gazette, the barrier is damaged in a vacuum, the songs of passerines amplify and then extinguish, while I am swept away such a straw. - Missen ? A dizzy m assaults. I winks a little of the eyes, me recovering slowly, replace my head: I the meaning strangely backwards. - Missen ?
A hand me gently press the shoulder. I look back, slowly, left, while the tiles seizes once again of the arches of my feet. I take support from the wall, hagarde, trying to enter the inept gibberish that m address the intruder a little worried. On what planet do I landed? What is this strange feeling of sinking, loss of landmarks? - Zal het niet? Missen ? In a foggy searing intensity, I returned to finally this skin that I had deserted: Of a poor facial expression, I assure the grand Gaillard sheepishly that I am well, that I certainly have been a victim of the ambient heat and apologize for me not to be concerned about the imminent time of closure. Then, throwing a last look at the table "The entry of the public garden in Arles," I greet hastily, but the most graciously that it m is permitted without be ridiculous, the custodian of the Museum of EDE. - And what is the rain? We departed to seven... The day rose painfully on the Desert Campaign, a Pale Sun, almost sick as a winter without end... Yes, we departed to seven, that morning. An idea of Claire, haunting; a stubborn idea as the cold who had not left the plain since two months: a hiking, because that was what we were doing previously, when the winter was battering on us and our houses, a hike in the frozen landscape. I said to clear that it was a folly, that winters had become so rigorous that we would have done better to remain near the fire, warmly installed under our blankets, instead to go locking us in this nature icy, hostile, almost dangerous. But she had not wanted to waive, arguing that the weather was favorable and that we might regret later if we do not now, a last time. Pierre was going to leave us, we knew a long time ago. It would install if far, soignerait both wound and sorrows, if far from us that it would not. Ever. And this, as we all knew. Then we departed with our equipment, our dreams and hopes that fled yet as the years spent: a strangeness that resembled the Walk the world and of life. When we arrived at the peak of the cooler, I heard the voice of Clear. It howled: - Still a effort!!! We are almost there... - It must not be yelling, clear! It is dangerous! - Nothing is dangerous, Pierre... you should know that better than me! Suddenly there was a flash, intense light and brief which we surprised all, except Clear. She added, to the address of Peter: "You see, it was like a stroke of lightning... ". And her gaze darkens suddenly, sweeping the face of Sophie, then that of Pierre. I watched this scene, almost incredulous: I suspected for a long time it was brewing something between Claire and Pierre, without the knowledge of Sophie. All of us suspected as much, to tell the truth, with the exception of Sophie, the wife of caring, faithful and gullible if... We doubted all and we had nothing said, assuming naively that the departure of Pierre would put an end to its connection with clear, if the connection there was. Max and Pierre said nothing. I suddenly became the floor, with a fixed idea in mind: calm down the game. - We will all refit. We are going to make a stop, even here, ask our bags and we appease. All, and thou also, clear. Claire stared at me in a curious way: there was something unsaid in his eyes, something that I do not recognize, something that frightened me without that I know why. I would venture to say that it seemed strange, almost owned? Was this the lack of oxygen, due to the altitude, which gave me the impression of a thick fog enveloping us suddenly? The impression that the Immaculate landscape rocked, that the horizon is peeling away? Yes, a sensation curious, as if we had lost, unable to find our path... But what path we should take, in the fair? Then, we sat down, as well as, cluttered with our equipment too heavy. And the silence settled, barely interrupted by our breaths stutter. I felt that I had suddenly more strength to continue, continue our road or turn back, that I became indifferent. We were there, sitting in the frozen snow: five persons and two dogs, seven in total, but I felt alone suddenly, if only, almost foreign to that surrounded me. I had so hoped that Clear Track me, instead of stone... And what is it could well find him?
Max also be silent. That Could it add? Scan a drama as it removes the snow, which obstructs the Not a door? At the end of a long time, Pierre proposed to return, and arose. It is then that the dogs began to barking, a sort of long howl, more and more tenuous, and then a moan almost desperate and which seemed no longer to finish. Claire said: - Dogs the know... T remember-tu ma Mie, t remember you? From the fall to the winter, the passage défleurit the season, feathers and ticking meek dress the scratches of eiderdown. To this denial of waiting cautious of the harvests of the past, fleet to the wind of yesterday the Snowy wave. Mouds the grain from the chaff, cache heart of thy regrets, blandices, calico whispered, cracks of the slap time thy face crumpled of indignities insolent.
The landscape is drawn, the path, benches, women, the visitor and its Gazette, the barrier is damaged in a vacuum, the songs of passerines amplify and then extinguish, while I am swept away such a straw. - Missen ?
A dizzy m assaults. I winks a little of the eyes, me recovering slowly, replace my head: I the meaning strangely backwards. - Missen ? A hand me gently press the shoulder. I look back, slowly, left, while the tiles seizes once again of the arches of my feet. I take support from the wall, hagarde, trying to enter the inept gibberish that m address the intruder a little worried. On what planet do I landed? What is this strange feeling of sinking, loss of landmarks?
- Zal het niet? Missen ? In a foggy searing intensity, I returned to finally this skin that I had deserted: Of a poor facial expression, I assure the grand Gaillard sheepishly that I am well, that I certainly have been a victim of the ambient heat and apologize for me not to be concerned about the imminent time of closure. Then, throwing a last look at the table "The entry of the public garden in Arles," I greet hastily, but the most graciously that it m is permitted without be ridiculous, the custodian of the Museum of EDE. - And what is the rain? We departed to seven... The day rose painfully on the Desert Campaign, a Pale Sun, almost sick as a winter without end... Yes, we departed to seven, that morning. An idea of Claire, haunting; a stubborn idea as the cold who had not left the plain since two months: a hiking, because that was what we were doing previously, when the winter was battering on us and our houses, a hike in the frozen landscape. I said to clear that it was a folly, that winters had become so rigorous that we would have done better to remain near the fire, warmly installed under our blankets, instead to go locking us in this nature icy, hostile, almost dangerous. But she had not wanted to waive, arguing that the weather was favorable and that we might regret later if we do not now, a last time. Pierre was going to leave us, we knew a long time ago. It would install if far, soignerait both wound and sorrows, if far from us that it would not. Ever. And this, as we all knew. Then we departed with our equipment, our dreams and hopes that fled yet as the years spent: a strangeness that resembled the Walk the world and of life. When we arrived at the peak of the cooler, I heard the voice of Clear. It howled: - Still a effort!!! We are almost there...
- It must not be yelling, clear! It is dangerous! - Nothing is dangerous, Pierre... you should know that better than me! Suddenly there was a flash, intense light and brief which we surprised all, except Clear. She added, to the address of Peter: "You see, it was like a stroke of lightning... ". And her gaze darkens suddenly, sweeping the face of Sophie, then that of Pierre. I watched this scene, almost incredulous: I suspected for a long time it was brewing something between Claire and Pierre, without the knowledge of Sophie. All of us suspected as much, to tell the truth, with the exception of Sophie, the wife of caring, faithful and gullible if... We doubted all and we had nothing said, assuming naively that the departure of Pierre would put an end to its connection with clear, if the connection there was. Max and Pierre said nothing. I suddenly became the floor, with a fixed idea in mind: calm down the game. - We will all refit. We are going to make a stop, even here, ask our bags and we appease. All, and thou also, clear. Claire stared at me in a curious way: there was something unsaid in his eyes, something that I do not recognize, something that frightened me without that I know why. I would venture to say that it seemed strange, almost owned? Was this the lack of oxygen, due to the altitude, which gave me the impression of a thick fog enveloping us suddenly? The impression that the Immaculate landscape rocked, that the horizon is peeling away? Yes, a sensation curious, as if we had lost, unable to find our path... But what path we should take, in the fair? Then, we sat down, as well as, cluttered with our equipment too heavy. And the silence settled, barely interrupted by our breaths stutter. I felt that I had suddenly more strength to continue, continue our road or turn back, that I became indifferent. We were there, sitting in the frozen snow: five persons and two dogs, seven in total, but I felt alone suddenly, if only, almost foreign to that surrounded me. I had so hoped that Clear Track me, instead of stone... And what is it could well find him? Max also be silent. That Could it add? Scan a drama as it removes the snow, which obstructs the Not a door? At the end of a long time, Pierre proposed to return, and arose. It is then that the dogs began to barking, a sort of long howl, more and more tenuous, and then a moan almost desperate and which seemed no longer to finish. Claire said: - Dogs the know... T remember-tu ma Mie, t remember you? From the fall to the winter, the passage défleurit the season, feathers and ticking meek dress the scratches of eiderdown. To this denial of waiting cautious of the harvests of the past, fleet to the wind of yesterday the Snowy wave. Mouds the grain from the chaff, cache heart of thy regrets, blandices, calico whispered, cracks of the slap time thy face crumpled of indignities insolent. then, inhabited by some mysterious prescience, forks to the left. It is there that he came, I am sure. I feel his fury creative that passes through the ages. I finally arrives at the top of the slope, m sit with a huge fir tree when, suddenly, I am uprooted, quickly, disproportionately quickly. My eyes follow the garden which is leaking to the Infinite. The yellow of the aisle is diluted in the green. The landscape is drawn, the path, benches, women, the visitor and its Gazette, the barrier is damaged in a vacuum, the songs of passerines amplify and then extinguish, while I am swept away such a straw. - Missen ? A dizzy m assaults. I winks a little of the eyes, me recovering slowly, replace my head: I the meaning strangely backwards. - Missen ? A hand me gently press the shoulder. I look back, slowly, left, while the tiles seizes once again of the arches of my feet. I take support from the wall, hagarde, trying to enter the inept gibberish that m address the intruder a little worried. On what planet do I landed? What is this strange feeling of sinking, loss of landmarks? - Zal het niet? Missen ? In a foggy searing intensity, I returned to finally this skin that I had deserted: Of a poor facial expression, I assure the grand Gaillard sheepishly that I am well, that I certainly have been a victim of the ambient heat and apologize for me not to be concerned about the imminent time of closure. Then, throwing a last look at the table "The entry of the public garden in Arles," I greet hastily, but the most graciously that it m is permitted without be ridiculous, the custodian of the Museum of EDE. - And what is the rain? We departed to seven... The day rose painfully on the Desert Campaign, a Pale Sun, almost sick as a winter without end... Yes, we departed to seven, that morning. An idea of Claire, haunting; a stubborn idea as the cold who had not left the plain since two months: a hiking, because that was what we were doing previously, when the winter was battering on us and our houses, a hike in the frozen landscape.
I said to clear that it was a folly, that winters had become so rigorous that we would have done better to remain near the fire, warmly installed under our blankets, instead to go locking us in this nature icy, hostile, almost dangerous. But she had not wanted to waive, arguing that the weather was favorable and that we might regret later if we do not now, a last time. Pierre was going to leave us, we knew a long time ago. It would install if far, soignerait both wound and sorrows, if far from us that it would not. Ever. And this, as we all knew. Then we departed with our equipment, our dreams and hopes that fled yet as the years spent: a strangeness that resembled the Walk the world and of life. When we arrived at the peak of the cooler, I heard the voice of Clear. It howled:
- Still a effort!!! We are almost there... - It must not be yelling, clear! It is dangerous! - Nothing is dangerous, Pierre... you should know that better than me! Suddenly there was a flash, intense light and brief which we surprised all, except Clear. She added, to the address of Peter: "You see, it was like a stroke of lightning... ". And her gaze darkens suddenly, sweeping the face of Sophie, then that of Pierre. I watched this scene, almost incredulous: I suspected for a long time it was brewing something between Claire and Pierre, without the knowledge of Sophie. All of us suspected as much, to tell the truth, with the exception of Sophie, the wife of caring, faithful and gullible if... We doubted all and we had nothing said, assuming naively that the departure of Pierre would put an end to its connection with clear, if the connection there was. Max and Pierre said nothing. I suddenly became the floor, with a fixed idea in mind: calm down the game.
- We will all refit. We are going to make a stop, even here, ask our bags and we appease. All, and thou also, clear. Claire stared at me in a curious way: there was something unsaid in his eyes, something that I do not recognize, something that frightened me without that I know why. I would venture to say that it seemed strange, almost owned? Was this the lack of oxygen, due to the altitude, which gave me the impression of a thick fog enveloping us suddenly? The impression that the Immaculate landscape rocked, that the horizon is peeling away? Yes, a sensation curious, as if we had lost, unable to find our path... But what path we should take, in the fair? Then, we sat down, as well as, cluttered with our equipment too heavy. And the silence settled, barely interrupted by our breaths stutter. I felt that I had suddenly more strength to continue, continue our road or turn back, that I became indifferent. We were there, sitting in the frozen snow: five persons and two dogs, seven in total, but I felt alone suddenly, if only, almost foreign to that surrounded me. I had so hoped that Clear Track me, instead of stone... And what is it could well find him? Max also be silent. That Could it add? Scan a drama as it removes the snow, which obstructs the Not a door? At the end of a long time, Pierre proposed to return, and arose. It is then that the dogs began to barking, a sort of long howl, more and more tenuous, and then a moan almost desperate and which seemed no longer to finish. Claire said: - Dogs the know... T remember-tu ma Mie, t remember you? From the fall to the winter, the passage défleurit the season, feathers and ticking meek dress the scratches of eiderdown. To this denial of waiting cautious of the harvests of the past, fleet to the wind of yesterday the Snowy wave. Mouds the grain from the chaff, cache heart of thy regrets, blandices, calico whispered, cracks of the slap time thy face crumpled of indignities insolent. then, inhabited by some mysterious prescience, forks to the left. It is there that he came, I am sure. I feel his fury creative that passes through the ages. I finally arrives at the top of the slope, m sit with a huge fir tree when, suddenly, I am uprooted, quickly, disproportionately quickly. My eyes follow the garden which is leaking to the Infinite. The yellow of the aisle is diluted in the green. The landscape is drawn, the path, benches, women, the visitor and its Gazette, the barrier is damaged in a vacuum, the songs of passerines amplify and then extinguish, while I am swept away such a straw. - Missen ? A dizzy m assaults. I winks a little of the eyes, me recovering slowly, replace my head: I the meaning strangely backwards. - Missen ?
A hand me gently press the shoulder. I look back, slowly, left, while the tiles seizes once again of the arches of my feet. I take support from the wall, hagarde, trying to enter the inept gibberish that m address the intruder a little worried. On what planet do I landed? What is this strange feeling of sinking, loss of landmarks? - Zal het niet? Missen ? In a foggy searing intensity, I returned to finally this skin that I had deserted: Of a poor facial expression, I assure the grand Gaillard sheepishly that I am well, that I certainly have been a victim of the ambient heat and apologize for me not to be concerned about the imminent time of closure. Then, throwing a last look at the table "The entry of the public garden in Arles," I greet hastily, but the most graciously that it m is permitted without be ridiculous, the custodian of the Museum of EDE. - And what is the rain? We departed to seven... The day rose painfully on the Desert Campaign, a Pale Sun, almost sick as a winter without end... Yes, we departed to seven, that morning. An idea of Claire, haunting; a stubborn idea as the cold who had not left the plain since two months: a hiking, because that was what we were doing previously, when the winter was battering on us and our houses, a hike in the frozen landscape. I said to clear that it was a folly, that winters had become so rigorous that we would have done better to remain near the fire, warmly installed under our blankets, instead to go locking us in this nature icy, hostile, almost dangerous. But she had not wanted to waive, arguing that the weather was favorable and that we might regret later if we do not now, a last time. Pierre was going to leave us, we knew a long time ago. It would install if far, soignerait both wound and sorrows, if far from us that it would not. Ever. And this, as we all knew. Then we departed with our equipment, our dreams and hopes that fled yet as the years spent: a strangeness that resembled the Walk the world and of life. When we arrived at the peak of the cooler, I heard the voice of Clear. It howled: - Still a effort!!! We are almost there...
- It must not be yelling, clear! It is dangerous! - Nothing is dangerous, Pierre... you should know that better than me! Suddenly there was a flash, intense light and brief which we surprised all, except Clear. She added, to the address of Peter: "You see, it was like a stroke of lightning... ". And her gaze darkens suddenly, sweeping the face of Sophie, then that of Pierre. I watched this scene, almost incredulous: I suspected for a long time it was brewing something between Claire and Pierre, without the knowledge of Sophie. All of us suspected as much, to tell the truth, with the exception of Sophie, the wife of caring, faithful and gullible if... We doubted all and we had nothing said, assuming naively that the departure of Pierre would put an end to its connection with clear, if the connection there was. Max and Pierre said nothing. I suddenly became the floor, with a fixed idea in mind: calm down the game. - We will all refit. We are going to make a stop, even here, ask our bags and we appease. All, and thou also, clear. Claire stared at me in a curious way: there was something unsaid in his eyes, something that I do not recognize, something that frightened me without that I know why. I would venture to say that it seemed strange, almost owned? Was this the lack of oxygen, due to the altitude, which gave me the impression of a thick fog enveloping us suddenly? The impression that the Immaculate landscape rocked, that the horizon is peeling away? Yes, a sensation curious, as if we had lost, unable to find our path... But what path we should take, in the fair? Then, we sat down, as well as, cluttered with our equipment too heavy. And the silence settled, barely interrupted by our breaths stutter. I felt that I had suddenly more strength to continue, continue our road or turn back, that I became indifferent. We were there, sitting in the frozen snow: five persons and two dogs, seven in total, but I felt alone suddenly, if only, almost foreign to that surrounded me. I had so hoped that Clear Track me, instead of stone... And what is it could well find him? Max also be silent. That Could it add? Scan a drama as it removes the snow, which obstructs the Not a door? At the end of a long time, Pierre proposed to return, and arose. It is then that the dogs began to barking, a sort of long howl, more and more tenuous, and then a moan almost desperate and which seemed no longer to finish. Claire said:
- Dogs the know... T remember-tu ma Mie, t remember you? From the fall to the winter, the passage défleurit the season, feathers and ticking meek dress the scratches of eiderdown. To this denial of waiting cautious of the harvests of the past, fleet to the wind of yesterday the Snowy wave. Mouds the grain from the chaff, cache heart of thy regrets, blandices, calico whispered, cracks of the slap time thy face crumpled of indignities insolent. then, inhabited by some mysterious prescience, forks to the left. It is there that he came, I am sure. I feel his fury creative that passes through the ages. I finally arrives at the top of the slope, m sit with a huge fir tree when, suddenly, I am uprooted, quickly, disproportionately quickly. My eyes follow the garden which is leaking to the Infinite. The yellow of the aisle is diluted in the green. The landscape is drawn, the path, benches, women, the visitor and its Gazette, the barrier is damaged in a vacuum, the songs of passerines amplify and then extinguish, while I am swept away such a straw. - Missen ?
A dizzy m assaults. I winks a little of the eyes, me recovering slowly, replace my head: I the meaning strangely backwards. - Missen ? A hand me gently press the shoulder. I look back, slowly, left, while the tiles seizes once again of the arches of my feet. I take support from the wall, hagarde, trying to enter the inept gibberish that m address the intruder a little worried. On what planet do I landed? What is this strange feeling of sinking, loss of landmarks? - Zal het niet? Missen ? In a foggy searing intensity, I returned to finally this skin that I had deserted:
Of a poor facial expression, I assure the grand Gaillard sheepishly that I am well, that I certainly have been a victim of the ambient heat and apologize for me not to be concerned about the imminent time of closure. Then, throwing a last look at the table "The entry of the public garden in Arles," I greet hastily, but the most graciously that it m is permitted without be ridiculous, the custodian of the Museum of EDE. And what is the rain? We departed to seven... The day rose painfully on the Desert Campaign, a Pale Sun, almost sick as a winter without end... Yes, we departed to seven, that morning. An idea of Claire, haunting; a stubborn idea as the cold who had not left the plain since two months: a hiking, because that was what we were doing previously, when the winter was battering on us and our houses, a hike in the frozen landscape. I said to clear that it was a folly, that winters had become so rigorous that we would have done better to remain near the fire, warmly installed under our blankets, instead to go locking us in this nature icy, hostile, almost dangerous. But she had not wanted to waive, arguing that the weather was favorable and that we might regret later if we do not now, a last time. Pierre was going to leave us, we knew a long time ago. It would install if far, soignerait both wound and sorrows, if far from us that it would not. Ever. And this, as we all knew. Then we departed with our equipment, our dreams and hopes that fled yet as the years spent: a strangeness that resembled the Walk the world and of life. When we arrived at the peak of the cooler, I heard the voice of Clear. It howled: - Still a effort!!! We are almost there... - It must not be yelling, clear! It is dangerous! - Nothing is dangerous, Pierre... you should know that better than me! Suddenly there was a flash, intense light and brief which we surprised all, except Clear. She added, to the address of Peter: "You see, it was like a stroke of lightning... ". And her gaze darkens suddenly, sweeping the face of Sophie, then that of Pierre. I watched this scene, almost incredulous: I suspected for a long time it was brewing something between Claire and Pierre, without the knowledge of Sophie. All of us suspected as much, to tell the truth, with the exception of Sophie, the wife of caring, faithful and gullible if... We doubted all and we had nothing said, assuming naively that the departure of Pierre would put an end to its connection with clear, if the connection there was. Max and Pierre said nothing. I suddenly became the floor, with a fixed idea in mind: calm down the game. - We will all refit. We are going to make a stop, even here, ask our bags and we appease. All, and thou also, clear. Claire stared at me in a curious way: there was something unsaid in his eyes, something that I do not recognize, something that frightened me without that I know why. I would venture to say that it seemed strange, almost owned? Was this the lack of oxygen, due to the altitude, which gave me the impression of a thick fog enveloping us suddenly? The impression that the Immaculate landscape rocked, that the horizon is peeling away? Yes, a sensation curious, as if we had lost, unable to find our path... But what path we should take, in the fair? Then, we sat down, as well as, cluttered with our equipment too heavy. And the silence settled, barely interrupted by our breaths stutter. I felt that I had suddenly more strength to continue, continue our road or turn back, that I became indifferent. We were there, sitting in the frozen snow: five persons and two dogs, seven in total, but I felt alone suddenly, if only, almost foreign to that surrounded me. I had so hoped that Clear Track me, instead of stone... And what is it could well find him? Max also be silent. That Could it add? Scan a drama as it removes the snow, which obstructs the Not a door? At the end of a long time, Pierre proposed to return, and arose. It is then that the dogs began to barking, a sort of long howl, more and more tenuous, and then a moan almost desperate and which seemed no longer to finish. Claire said: - Dogs the know...
T remember-tu ma Mie, t remember you? From the fall to the winter, the passage défleurit the season, feathers and ticking meek dress the scratches of eiderdown. To this denial of waiting cautious of the harvests of the past, fleet to the wind of yesterday the Snowy wave. Mouds the grain from the chaff, cache heart of thy regrets, blandices, calico whispered, cracks of the slap time thy face crumpled of indignities insolent. then, inhabited by some mysterious prescience, forks to the left. It is there that he came, I am sure. I feel his fury creative that passes through the ages. I finally arrives at the top of the slope, m sit with a huge fir tree when, suddenly, I am uprooted, quickly, disproportionately quickly. My eyes follow the garden which is leaking to the Infinite. The yellow of the aisle is diluted in the green. The landscape is drawn, the path, benches, women, the visitor and its Gazette, the barrier is damaged in a vacuum, the songs of passerines amplify and then extinguish, while I am swept away such a straw. - Missen ? A dizzy m assaults. I winks a little of the eyes, me recovering slowly, replace my head: I the meaning strangely backwards. - Missen ?
A hand me gently press the shoulder. I look back, slowly, left, while the tiles seizes once again of the arches of my feet. I take support from the wall, hagarde, trying to enter the inept gibberish that m address the intruder a little worried. On what planet do I landed? What is this strange feeling of sinking, loss of landmarks? - Zal het niet? Missen ? In a foggy searing intensity, I returned to finally this skin that I had deserted: Of a poor facial expression, I assure the grand Gaillard sheepishly that I am well, that I certainly have been a victim of the ambient heat and apologize for me not to be concerned about the imminent time of closure. Then, throwing a last look at the table "The entry of the public garden in Arles," I greet hastily, but the most graciously that it m is permitted without be ridiculous, the custodian of the Museum of EDE. - And what is the rain? We departed to seven... The day rose painfully on the Desert Campaign, a Pale Sun, almost sick as a winter without end... Yes, we departed to seven, that morning. An idea of Claire, haunting; a stubborn idea as the cold who had not left the plain since two months: a hiking, because that was what we were doing previously, when the winter was battering on us and our houses, a hike in the frozen landscape. I said to clear that it was a folly, that winters had become so rigorous that we would have done better to remain near the fire, warmly installed under our blankets, instead to go locking us in this nature icy, hostile, almost dangerous. But she had not wanted to waive, arguing that the weather was favorable and that we might regret later if we do not now, a last time. Pierre was going to leave us, we knew a long time ago. It would install if far, soignerait both wound and sorrows, if far from us that it would not. Ever. And this, as we all knew. Then we departed with our equipment, our dreams and hopes that fled yet as the years spent: a strangeness that resembled the Walk the world and of life. When we arrived at the peak of the cooler, I heard the voice of Clear. It howled: - Still a effort!!! We are almost there... - It must not be yelling, clear! It is dangerous! - Nothing is dangerous, Pierre... you should know that better than me! Suddenly there was a flash, intense light and brief which we surprised all, except Clear. She added, to the address of Peter: "You see, it was like a stroke of lightning... ". And her gaze darkens suddenly, sweeping the face of Sophie, then that of Pierre. I watched this scene, almost incredulous: I suspected for a long time it was brewing something between Claire and Pierre, without the knowledge of Sophie. All of us suspected as much, to tell the truth, with the exception of Sophie, the wife of caring, faithful and gullible if... We doubted all and we had nothing said, assuming naively that the departure of Pierre would put an end to its connection with clear, if the connection there was. Max and Pierre said nothing. I suddenly became the floor, with a fixed idea in mind: calm down the game. - We will all refit. We are going to make a stop, even here, ask our bags and we appease. All, and thou also, clear. Claire stared at me in a curious way: there was something unsaid in his eyes, something that I do not recognize, something that frightened me without that I know why. I would venture to say that it seemed strange, almost owned? Was this the lack of oxygen, due to the altitude, which gave me the impression of a thick fog enveloping us suddenly? The impression that the Immaculate landscape rocked, that the horizon is peeling away? Yes, a sensation curious, as if we had lost, unable to find our path... But what path we should take, in the fair? Then, we sat down, as well as, cluttered with our equipment too heavy. And the silence settled, barely interrupted by our breaths stutter. I felt that I had suddenly more strength to continue, continue our road or turn back, that I became indifferent. We were there, sitting in the frozen snow: five persons and two dogs, seven in total, but I felt alone suddenly, if only, almost foreign to that surrounded me. I had so hoped that Clear Track me, instead of stone... And what is it could well find him?
Max also be silent. That Could it add? Scan a drama as it removes the snow, which obstructs the Not a door? At the end of a long time, Pierre proposed to return, and arose. It is then that the dogs began to barking, a sort of long howl, more and more tenuous, and then a moan almost desperate and which seemed no longer to finish. Claire said: - Dogs the know... T remember-tu ma Mie, t remember you? From the fall to the winter, the passage défleurit the season, feathers and ticking meek dress the scratches of eiderdown. To this denial of waiting cautious of the harvests of the past, fleet to the wind of yesterday the Snowy wave. Mouds the grain from the chaff, cache heart of thy regrets, blandices, calico whispered, cracks of the slap time thy face crumpled of indignities insolent.
Published on Wednesday, December 27 2017 by kamel ouati