It's a sound by Paul Kalkbrenner. Flying to the moon, a place where you can find me. The dream of building a castle in the sky and in the sand, a world that nobody understands.
It's summer after summer, september, november. It's the South that I know since I was born, my other house and land. It's the nearest sea Paris gets, Normandie, Deauville and around. It's me looking at the sky everyday and being amazed everyday the same way and everyday in a different way, alone in her last house of the South facing the green and blues, having an appointment with myself everyday at seven, when it's warm enough to have a swim, when the heat goes away and if you're lucky you can feel the wind. It's me looking at the sun going down and hiding behind the same tree, the sun is hiding, disappearing in the mountains and I ask her, the name of the tree. It's the dreamy view from the pool and it's silence. And this endless love I have for time alone, the luxury of that time and a noise finally, the water has a sound when I get inside. Don't have to worry, I'll come back soon.