Été indien
November 7, 2011… Je n’ai jamais ete aussi heureuse que ce matin la … C’était l’automne; un automne ou il faisait beau. Une saison qui n’existe que dans le Nord de l’Amérique. La-bas on I’apelle I’ete Indien…
but it was simply Autumn in London.
I have never been to America and I really don’t know what an ‘indian summer’ is… to me it holds a slightly poetic and romantic meaning. Years ago, when I left Romania… I remember spending the last week mostly on the beach. It was late september and, back home, September is usually wet and gloomy. but that last week it was beautiful. A soft autumnal light invaded the beach from morning till sunset. Back home, the sun rises from the sea and sets behind the mountains. In london, the sun rises from the Olympic Stadium and sets in the West End. I used to be able to witness this passage from my roof top terrace.
One morning I woke up before the sun and ran on the terrace just to get a gance of the cool mornig light. I woke her up and dragged her out of her dreams on the terrace. She looked like a fizzy drink that’s been shaken a bit and had the lid of the bottle open… bubbly but sleepy, with perfect bed hair that make something inside me tickle with joy .
I really don’t know who and why Joe Dassin was singing his l’ete indien… I really don’t know what an indian summer is. to me it’s her sleepy image, barefooted on the terrace, admiring the sunriseand the sun set… like a little prince on his little planet, with his lovely flower. His eyes still show an astonished look in the face of the world’s daily miracles…
