By Léa Vaudé
Hours are not the same by day or night. Time change.
Nights will always be faster than days. Even if days can be incredibly shorts.
Days are a fresh start, usual routine, cruel, colourful or grey, chai tea, strict, rules, agenda, fights.
Nights are comfortable, crazy, sleepy, alcoholic, tender, cosy, charming, lights, family.
Days are warmer than nights, but home looks warmer at night.
Days and nights, you fight against the irresistible call of cheese and wine. It’s a curse or a blessing it depends on the hour.
And the twilight? Dusk or dawn?
They make time physical, at those exact moments of each day or night, we see the time.
Here is a beautiful poem about the twilight, wrote by one of my favourites poets, Paul Verlaine. Read it first in French so you can hear the rhythm.
Le Souvenir avec le Crépuscule
Rougeoie et tremble à l’ardent horizon
De l’Espérance en flamme qui recule
Et s’agrandit ainsi qu’une cloison Mystérieuse où mainte floraison
— Dahlia, lys, tulipe et renoncule —
S’élance autour d’un treillis, et circule
Parmi la maladive exhalaison
De parfums lourds et chauds, dont le poison — Dahlia, lys, tulipe et renoncule —
Noyant mes sens, mon âme et ma raison, Mêle, dans une immense pâmoison,
Le Souvenir avec le Crépuscule.
I tried to translate it so you can understand, even if it’s too literal and not as good as the original.
Remembrance with twilight
Red-eyed and trembling on the burning horizon Flaming Hope in retreat
And is growing as well as a partition Mysterious where many blooms bloom
– Dahlia, lily, tulip and buttercup –
Runs around a trellis, and circulates
Among the sickly exhalation
Heavy and warm fragrances, including poison – Dahlia, lily, tulip and buttercup –
Drowning my senses, my soul and my reason, Mixed, in a huge swoon,
Remembrance with twilight.