Sheltered by large maples busy lives. A lifting of hands, a thud, or sometimes from successive small squeal for gravel, which are exchanged glances, it's a picture that is emerging ephemeral. It's there under a gentle sun, that we find parts of bowling. No pastis, or accent, but still a few spectators or bystanders. A little breeze refreshes the face and pushes the leaves dropped Automne by age. And when the leaves flutter to the players, we wonder who has the greatest age. The leaf turns proud beautiful colors of yellow, red, orange, brown mixed, or the ball launchers whose hands are covered with wrinkles. The same pitchers who post their senior smiles framed with two large wrinkles.
That smile. It makes them so young. It erases the traces of age, although sometimes age comes on at a gallop, betrayed by those who have jaws too served and were denuded of their beautiful ornaments. But still that smile, it makes them jealous, including me. These are not the best days in my head. The sun is shining, but my mind is dull. Finally, to see where all these people talking to each other, smile, encourage each other. Sometimes a higher voice, to scold, but also welcomed. It's a simple show, a blue sky, three trees, shade, a large number of balls, people for the launch, some piglets, a chair for some, and here is an afternoon that promises many happy . Laughter, eyes that sparkle, jokes and some jokes that make everyone laugh except that covered. Look, he smiles now, not so very long.
They bear the brunt of their lives, but our eyes panicked as we try to follow their movements, our ears become confused when their words are scrambling. To see the happiness is easy to reach. Everyone has had his life, happy or sad? Romantic or lonely? complicated or simple? A bit of everything, perhaps. All this is behind them, which in large part. They already have all the answers to the questions I ask myself. It's a chance. I think they are lucky to be who they are. When they must think I'm lucky to be able to choose everything, you can create all the better. More than ready to take the jack. Tends an arm, a ball spinning in the air, hits the ground. Cling! a pebble. She flees from its trajectory, away from its goal. You can do your best, apply, the better. Anything can fail. After a little further, another through the air. Descends. Bang, shouts rise. Joy. The ball errs, the other goes further. The obstructions can interfere more. Thus every turn is not harmful.
They make me smile all those people. I would like at their age to play quietly in a ball or two. With so many people they are. And by then, what will he go? Is there still a lot of cling, or a lot of bang? Oh all these questions, this uncertainty. I am a little confused. I terrifies me a lot. Time passes I have to depart.
And if life was a game of bowls, both under a lifetime, to choose a direction, scale ... which can lead to joy, but a stone may distort everything. Here, we propose a broom to remove the stones forger. But it's already too late. Being the best player does not guarantee the best part. At least, all these people they made me smile and gave me a little joy to the heart. It's simple, but it's nice to see that it is simple to construct a piece of good time, it reassures, it's good, it motivates. What
bocce offers them much laughter.
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