VII - Staring at the water

What a weird spring! Days of sunlight, days of heavy rain April is a joker among the months, switching seasons through the hail.

Mistral is blowing hard shaking the light dress of trees, the weak blossoms, the fragile leaves. Oh, that wind! Strong enough to break my lips but not enough to heal the pain.

You hold my hand, making me blush, take me to the park where we can sit and stare at the water. The old bench is floating on that wet mirror, sometimes blue, sometimes grey.

Here we are, sorrounded by the sound of Mother Nature looking each other's eyes the desire of jumping in the blue of the lake, it's an hard decision to make.

Water and sky are one thing hugging in the most pure freedom.