The garden was topped with white in the glow of dawn. Small footprints of birds traced a path discreet. We would have stayed there, to contemplate our little patch of garden, counting the buds, to marvel at the large bay on caressing each leaf with a thin layer of snow. The cold air rushing into our throats, our lungs deploying all wilted in the morning. We would have stayed there a few steps back on the veranda, gazing at the spectacle warm winter. Sitting on the African seat, facing the fireplace glowing embers, you'd closed your eyes, like a feline bliss. I would have looked tenderly, and time would have held his line until after dark ...
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