It's summer, it's rather hot, it's pretty humid and I am reading French poets whilst sipping to Scotch Whisky... Thought that just a short post would suffice this time. Good Night!
On Summer Nights
On summer nights, before the shining shop windows,
When the sap pulses beneath the tarnished halos
Formed by the grillwork at the feet of fragile elms,
Leaving black gatherings, gay groups or stay-at-homes,
Who lights up cheap cigars and pipes and puff away,
Into this narrow, half-stone stall I wend my way.
While overhead hangs a poster - Iblend, it states -
I imagine that winter also inudates
Tibet in running water, washing the yellow tide,
And that winter wind spares nothing left outside.
A. Rimbaud
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