Our way of dreaming

Remember? Hundred times, thousand times, from the million times, we came on the quay to see the boats, the birds, the idlers. We walked, we dreamed. The cries of the gulls, the wind in the veils of the schooners, you remained dumb. Not to speak. To keep silent itself. To put itself in withdrawal. To accept the mysteries. It was the reason of our visits. The wake of a boat on the chart of the oceans. To assemble inside not procuration. To begin to melt. The cold, the heat, the burn of the sun, the water which streams with the salt taste. The waves, the storms, we visited all the oceans without moving. It was our way of dreaming.