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color of Azerty

Jean-Michel Basquiat

is a lundremanche, one day color Azerty, where people were not even like each other as I ran down the spiral staircase and pranced up the hem of the River. Date color Azerty, I had checked for so many years on my calendar perpetual moleskin, I could only prance that morning. The sky to celebrate without doubt, had indigoté a linen cloth embroidered cross-stitch. I dressed myself in haste, taking care to dress my bare shoulders.

The arrival date color Azerty had been proved long ago, promising a spring evening, when all the nurseries of nature had begun to agitate the buds and bright sound. Sitting on my wooden bench, I savored the cool, the choir school of buttons emerging mingled in the enjoyment of renewal, warblers, thrushes, chickadees, nightingales, robins, finches, robins, crocuses, daffodils, hyacinths and other anemones. Voyeur in a daze, and baited, I tasted with relish all this orgy spring exhalations that offered me.

is climbing on the wall of my house of stone, as white as a queen clematis caught my attention. First, a sepal, then two, then all of a chalice offered me to host the corolla lips as available, offered, but the verb. I was not surprised then to hear him whisper in the dark:

- A day will come one day color Azerty, where an echo is your present mirera in water of A, as an at sign on which you project your future. Does not avoid this day. Note that this will be a lundremanche and that you will have that day, running to the river avoiding offending daffodils.

I took note of the message that white queen, yawned and went away to sleep.

And here I am, this morning in color Azerty, bent over the seamless flow of river. I narrowly avoided crossing, daffodils alluring. Zander, carp and studs seem to wait in line like stationed at a toll and coalesce before a strangely knit aquatic buttercups. That surprises me. I lean and discovers, hidden under the seaweed of flowers, a kind of rectangular box open like a book that would not, and a glossy screen which reflects, fade, my face.

Intrigued, I plunged into the river by hand to remove the object, but my foot slips on the uncertain foam board, and I find myself in the middle of lapping water, releasing the instant plug fish impatient and my discovery that the bumping line in green and brown pebbles.

I sat long and wet on the hem of the River. I had no leaves on the forehead, just a seaweed gluait therein. Much later, downstream, and without his, I caught the subject, let me have tamed and found myself am satiated, so much that I vomit sometimes water in the A from that which flees so fast it appears motionless.

Today color Qwerty, I have engraved on my wooden bench of three double V triplets are like birds, flying without flapping wing into a sky so varied that it is believed that a fact.

Pourtant  j’attends toujours que ma Reine Blanche, que depuis j’appelle Alice, me parle d’un jour comme un oiseau sur la plus haute branche.