Divagations...

Tickling. Tickling her hand. Tickling her neck, tickling her feet, tickling her toes… She laughs, it’s nice. Her clear childish laughter echoes in the house, rebounds on the walls, as if it would never stop. But it always fades away, at some point. When someone opens a window, the laughter flies quicker. Does the laughter continue to exist, outside ? It travels alone to parks, where it makes autumn’s yellow leaves shiver, then it slides on beautiful icy lakes, as little children during winter. Sometimes the laughter is thin, very thin, as if it would disappear. It’s not even a blurry shadow any longer, it’s vanishing through the air.
And some day it comes back, just when a baby plays with his stuffed elephant. The mother enters the room, she stands there, looking at her child. When the baby looks up and sees her, he smiles:
‘Mummy !’
‘Come on here, let’s get you ready for a little walk.’
The baby would let the laughter go away, and would crawl to her mother.
Then, during the walk, he would sing as babies always do. He doesn’t know how sad things can be, sometimes. His mother knows. Coming back from the walk, she sees her reflection in the big mirror, and she says outloud :
‘Things are wrong and not going any better.’
She tells it to herself. She’s not happy. She tried to be, but didn’t succeed. Sometimes she lies down on her bed and she forgets everything : him, the baby, the past and present. She lets her mind float above herself, and then she feels okay. But he comes back and it’s over, she’s the same again, sad and dull, sad and alone. He keeps screaming at her.
Some day she’ll decide to change, once for all. She’ll take her things, she’ll pack them, and she’ll go away, yes, she’ll leave this muddy place, she’ll let him burn himself up into alcohol and drugs. She’ll take the baby and she’ll go. She’ll refuse to sink into abysses of despair and low self-esteem, and she’ll change everything. She’ll find a new place to live in, she’ll find a decent job, she may even go dance rock’n’roll on Saturday evenings. She’ll be happy, full of bliss and freedom, and laughter will be back, eventually. She would have forget the Evil of her past life, the one that screamed at her, the one that beat her up. Yes, she’ll be happy for the rest of her life. Some day, when her little boy is 5 or 6 years old, she may meet some nice guy at the dancing club, who would invite her to dance, and maybe he’d kiss her softly and she’d really forget what she used to live.
She’s in the kitchen now, thinking about it. She’s still, on a chair. She thinks about times when she dreamt the life she’s living now. She succeeded, eventually. She changed everything. She is happy, now. Happy, here, in this house, with him, with her boy and their children. A little tear on her cheek. She can hear laughter, outside, in the garden. It’s a hot summer afternoon, windows are open. Laughter won’t vanish, not any more.

Bienvenue, Welcome, Herzlich Willkommen, Vælkomin, Fáilte

Et oui, bienvenue à toi, lecteur... Il y avait une petite lumière, tu es resté ici voir un peu, c'est gentil...

Je te préviens tout de suite, je n'aime pas le nom "blog", vague chose à la mode qui désigne tout et n'importe quoi. Je ne parlerais pas ici de mes vacances, ni de mes problèmes de shopping, encore moins de mes envies de régime (encore que...). Le mot blog est dorénavant banni ici bas, au fait...

Je n'ai crée (ou créée ou crééé, je ne sais jamais...) cette page web dans l'unique but de montrer mes petits textes, spontanés ou réfléchis, au plus grand nombre possible.
Mais chose étrange : je n'ai pas une envie folle que tout le monde puisse lire mes textes, donc je vais juste espérer très fort que le hasard du web mène quelques personnes à y venir (un peu, beaucoup?)...

Sur ce, bonne lecture!!


PS pour les linguistes égarés : le titre de ce message veut donc dire bienvenue, en français, anglais, allemand, féroien, et gaélique irlandais. Français parce que c'est ma langue maternelle, anglais parce que j'espère un jour le parler couramment, allemand parce que je suis incapable de le parler, féroien parce que j'aime bien ce mot (féroien, hein...). Et gaélique parce que j'aimerais aller en Irlande, un jour.

PPS : merci à toi, cher lecteur, de demander avant de prendre les textes (que ce soit dans leur intégralité ou en partie)...