She Danced under the Stars ✔

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My best friend is called Lily. Her name is Aileen Verlet; but you can call her Lily.

She comes from Brest, Brittany and stays at my house in Burgundy for two weeks—well, when I say at my house, please understand my dad's bachelor apartment.

Lily must feel a bit far from home. Brownfields and rain clouds are pretty uncommon here. All we have are historical monuments and sunny vineyards.

Anyway, I hope she doesn't feel disoriented by the roofs. We have a lot of half-timbered houses, old chimneys and dormer windows. But we also have many low walls and garage roofs where you can frolic in complete peace if you want!

Lily and I share the same passion: strolling at night on the hills. Cliffs in the middle of nowhere are good, rooftops in the middle of town . . . even better.

I love the night. Since I'm old enough to walk, I commune with myself in the silence of darkness, under that inky-black sheet covering the firmament. My eyes are watching for the twinkling of the stars. My nose fills up with an air that is both fresh and studded with the scent of sleeping flowers. I let my thoughts flit around in my mind.

I become one with the chirping of the crickets and the rustling of the leaves and the breaths of the wind through my fingers.

My heart is beating at the call of the night. I love the night because I have it in my blood.