Content:
In the beginning was an unexpected marine symphony, coming from elsewhere and falling from the sky.
In the fantastic auditorium of our daily lives, the twilight trumpeter blew a breach into the veil of normality. It is a rain of quacking crawfish, falling like a shower of discordant notes, that has descended upon the orchestra of bald trees, creating a marine symphony in the heavy air. Anonymous conductors, having become maestros for a day, faced this true crustacean ballet, gesticulating and chattering.
In this phantasmagorical tableau of everyday life, the leafless trees resounded, trembling with their bare branches in a melodious clatter. “The crawfish is not a string instrument, but fate has decided to prove us otherwise,” declared Father Ephrem, conductor of line 9, who had unwillingly become the leader of a dream orchestra with disarming conviction.
Faced with this surreal spectacle, the city dwellers abandoned their roles as mere spectators to become actors in this theater of the everyday. Improvised juggling games with the crawfish, one-day dancers on a wonderfully slippery asphalt stage, everyone let their imagination run wild.
“As our dear Dali would say, ‘I don’t take drugs. I am a drug.’ It seems the sky took his quote a bit too seriously today,” laughed the Mayor of the city, Mr. René Duchesne, during an impromptu press conference hastily organized. They all recall this day with a hint of madness in their eyes, almost regretting that the sun eventually broke through the sky to put an end to this rain of quacking crawfish, leaving behind a silent orchestra of bald trees.
Be First to Comment