Summer love turns to autumn
“Stephane, wait…your umbrella,” I heard my mother shouting. As the sweet rain was caressing my face, I surprised myself as I became aware of a whispered melody spilling out of my lips. To avoid the puddles, which were getting bigger by the minute, I let my body swinging right and left, so much so that for a moment I thought I was dancing, and I ended up sketching a dance move, my foot moving backwards before going forwards again. From my wet hair a few drops fell on my lips, bringing me back to the summer months, when the drops tasted salty and those landing on the hot sandy beach created an irregular pattern of tiny brown holes. But the most pleasant drops were those which were still on her lips, those still shining on her thin body, which she occasionally let me lick away, when we managed to have an isolated spot. On my way to the train station, I did not need to taste the rain drops on her lips. I knew they would taste like delicious honey.