She was admiring what was in front of her eyes. Nothing incredible. Nothing exceptional. That minimalism, that simplicity, that purity, that freshness which makes it beautiful. A sky, some clouds, some trees, a fountain nearby maybe. A light breeze, a bit warm was discretely blowing against her face. The statue, in the middle, cold, austere, was staring with disdain the world below it. She turned her eyes away and went, walking cheerfully toward a bench. She wanted to enjoy her afternoon, reading, under the april's pale sun. She just wanted to spend her day with a little taste of freedom.
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Promenades
Short StoryRecueil de divers textes courts écrits au fil de l'inspiration. (publications de trois nouvelles par semaine, lancement le dimanche)
