3- Still Snowing, the Plaza, Ice and an Old Wanderer

8 am here, email not working. Incredibly peaceful, just the faint sound of the gas fire.
The smell of toast. Daydream.




Watch the snow falling harder now.

As I go out I notice that the man at Roissy who emptied my backpack must have dropped a glove. While forcing everything back in the bag (all that I had carefully folded and placed in order to be able to close it) he had explained at length that he did this all the time and that I had nothing to worry about, everything would be in.

Meet a writer from Maine at the library. We chat.
Warming my hands in my pockets, I go for a walk towards the plaza, the “heart” of the old town as the guides say.
Everyone is in cars except an old wanderer, beard, cane, wool cap, sure-footed.
Watch out, to slip would be stupid, just arrived!

Time passes, it warms up, the snow falls from the trees, bare in no time.
Reading, tea, the sun breaks through, glowing red, already evening.
I had bought everything for a soup. And gloves.
Returning home, I see that my unknown neighbor is here. Lights on. Who will visit the other first ?

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