Under Mirabelle Trees
When the sunbeams glide over the meadow and the air smells of ripe fruits, then her day begins:
She has just woken up, but already wears a smile on her face.
Quickly to Gabriel. Her horse is as white as cream, with eyes that understand every story. She rides without bridle and saddle; she flies.
Through the blooming gardens of Paris, where the mirabelle trees cast shadows and release their lovely scent. The ground is covered with fallen fruit, and the smell leaves a sweet film on the tongue. Here, her little world begins to dance.
She tells him everything, her Gabriel. Every secret she wouldn’t trust anyone else with, she whispers in his ear. His mane flows like silk, bergamot tickles her nose, and as they trot through the clearings, iris and jasmine mingle in the air - like thoughts that are allowed to unfold. And again and again: Mirabelle. Ripe, warm, a little sticky on the fingers - that’s what summer tastes like when you love it.
Later, she loves to lie on his back when he is lying in the grass, and strokes his coat. It is soft. Suede and cedar gently emerge.
She scents on her dress and smiles.
“You are my summer,” she says. Gabriel snorts softly.
She has just woken up, but already wears a smile on her face.
Quickly to Gabriel. Her horse is as white as cream, with eyes that understand every story. She rides without bridle and saddle; she flies.
Through the blooming gardens of Paris, where the mirabelle trees cast shadows and release their lovely scent. The ground is covered with fallen fruit, and the smell leaves a sweet film on the tongue. Here, her little world begins to dance.
She tells him everything, her Gabriel. Every secret she wouldn’t trust anyone else with, she whispers in his ear. His mane flows like silk, bergamot tickles her nose, and as they trot through the clearings, iris and jasmine mingle in the air - like thoughts that are allowed to unfold. And again and again: Mirabelle. Ripe, warm, a little sticky on the fingers - that’s what summer tastes like when you love it.
Later, she loves to lie on his back when he is lying in the grass, and strokes his coat. It is soft. Suede and cedar gently emerge.
She scents on her dress and smiles.
“You are my summer,” she says. Gabriel snorts softly.
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