Le premier jour du reste de ta vie

[The first day of the rest of your life]

Today, I tied my hair into a ponytail. And slipped my bare feet into furry boots.

Up there I could barely see. I guess London has been called the smoke for a reason.
But down here – yes – down here it was windy, you know that kind of wind that turn your cheeks into cherry lollipops and make the glorious autumn trees sound like summer waves breaking onto pebble beaches.

I sat on my favourite bench, the one under the smallest platane.

Tonight, I turned on the heater. Just for ten minutes; just enough for the smell of an old garage to blend with that burning mulled wine candle in the most perfect way.

I’d like to say I had a chimerical dinner, one made of butternut squash, brown butter and sage. But nope. Two slices of pizza, a little salad, a lot of cider vinegar. Oh and a persimmon!

Tonight, but later – at dawn, perhaps – when fog will be everything we see, I’ll write.

About peaches baked in mead. About iced yoghurts pretending to be nougats glacés. About kisses and how they felt. About vanilla sponges with goat cheese curd. The working title goes along the lines of bonfire stories. And really, it could not be more right.

4 comments

  1. Your writing is just absolutely beautiful! In my little part of the world it’s rolling around to spring and it’s all butterflies and lazy, sunny days.

  2. “just enough for the smell of an old garage to blend with that burning mulled wine candle in the most perfect way”. Fanny, your writing gets more beautiful every time I read you. It’s almost a kind of urban poetry.

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