Summer weather doesn’t make my poor imagination brighter, I realize that also my thoughts are sleeping into this kind of protective kind of “hibernation” which makes me live in “slow motion”.
My mind becomes more basic and refuses to sweat, metaphorically, elaborating concepts.
Just to see a positive side in all that (after all I’m trying the best way to ferry safely myself across the burning river of summer until the blessed shore of mid-September) I realize I’m getting more contemplative. I stay inside my cavern and I look at the world from my window.
As a paradox, I can see snow.
The glorious Mont Blanc rises in front of my eyes, on the other side of the lake, like an indifferent giant.
The snowy mountain is a point of reference of my day, I look at it when I get up in the morning, often it’s still a little in the shade, because the sun is not up yet, I try to guess its violet silhouette in that magic time immediately before dawn.
During the day, sometimes it disappears draped into the heat mist, but at sunset it always comes out, clear, ready to let your eternal snow get slightly pinkish.
There is still snow in summer, it’s a good thought.