Wednesday, May 11, 2011

Somewhere sounds the jingle of an ice cream truck

Don't you love that phase of summer when it is not yet too old for its nickname, spring? Carelessly, the cherry blossom trees disassemble in the wind, their petals settling like tea leaves underfoot. Though I must confess, sometimes I get jealous when, billowing in front of me like outstretched fingertips, my hair plays clapping games with the wind. I remember being that free.

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