You know, I’ve never been happier than that morning.
We walked on a beach like this.
It was autumn, a beautiful autumn,
a season that only exists in the North of America.
There it is called the Indian summer
But it was simply ours.
With your long dress you looked
to a watercolour by Marie Laurencin.
And I remember, I remember very well
of what I said to you that morning,
a year ago, a century ago, an eternity ago.
We’ll go where you want, when you want
and we will love each other again, when the love is dead
all life will be the same as this morning
the colors of Indian summer
Today I am far away from this morning of autumn
But it’s like I was there
I think of you
Where are you?
What are you doing?
Do I still exist for you?
I look at this wave that will never reach the dune
You see, like the wave I go back,
Like it I lay on the sand
and I remember.
I remember these high tides
with the sun and happiness passing over the sea
an eternity ago, a century ago, a year ago …
We’ll go where you want, when you want
still we will love each other when love will be
dead
All life will be the same as this morning,
The colors of the Indian summer.
In 1975, just half a century ago, Joe Dassin sang this moving poem that still touches my heart today. Son of director Jules Dassin, Joe spent part of his childhood aux Étatsas they say in Quebec, it is found in many of his songs.
A few years after the song by Joe Dassin, Milo Manara made a comic book on a script by Hugo Pratt, the original title was “Tutto ricominciò con an’estate indiana”.Everything starts again like an indian summer
The two stories have nothing to do with each other, except the season, “a season that only exists in the North of America…” But not for long: climate change will make us Indian summers throughout the winter, and snow in summer!
I wanted to pay tribute to these two masterpieces, closely intertwined in my heart. I dedicate this beautiful way of beginning the year.
Soul Library
Your life is before you like an ocean. You don't see the shore. My life…
No matter where you are, when you pray to your god, you’ve always look at…
Some nights, you forget who you are. You don’t know the reason of being here…
Without much illusion, I stumble blindly to find the way. Towards where? No idea.
I lived this story more than twenty years ago, when I only practiced arcana XIII.