Souvenirs d'une année particulière, mon année en Gaspésie, où, immergée en milieu bilingue, je me risquai à écrire en anglais... N'hésitez pas à souligner mes fautes, mais j'aime à imaginer qu'il se dégage peut-être de cet anglais sommaire, une poésie naïve...
While I'm driving I see some moose eating the fresh grass growing in front of the wood. Behind the is a deep wood, as deep as an ocean. The moose enter in the wood and then it disapear. Where is it gone? No one knows. I'm driving to the Gaspésie and I leave it in its wood. I won't return the anymore, I'm just driving, keeping y eyes on the road.
Sometimes I feel tired, I feel like sleeping. Now the night has fallen. The stars are lighting in the sky. Ican see a thin pale moon. I open the window and put my arm on the left side. I can feel the air and some fuckin flies singing the little songs with the wind. Everything is calm. The trucks are driving slowly. I can see theirs lights, the beautiful cabines and inside the big red face of the driver, smiling to the stars or to the woman's picture standing over them as a christ icone. I'm driving. I feel some melancholy thinking about what I'm leaving and also hapiness thinking what I will find.
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