Carcass that dreams … fimo
A beach somewhere, the Atlantic can be or somewhere far away, one of those mild afternoons or it’s good to do nothing.
Carried by a soft spring breeze all dressed in red, lit here and there with crazy touches of color, floating behind him a train of green ribbons steals Sir kite flying.
A foppish with delicacy, a pretty, not a mediocre, sir knows how to cure himself, sir goes out the big game at each of his aerial appearances, we do not go out to do the dandy like that, it’s work every day! !!
Meanwhile, going to her (pre) daily occupations, Mrs. Léontine wanders on the beach in search of an acceptable pittance because since she had abandoned her basic diet, it was not easy to put something under the mandible.
It is true that she is plump Léontine, but that does not prevent him to trudge dunes and valleys on this beach even if this slight and nevertheless disabling overweight now forbids any hope of flight. These frail elytra no longer support its weight. She remembers her wild youth, or, to escape some mischievous or opportunistic too insistent, she fled elegantly in a roar of wings to shudder with jealousy these beautiful Italian pilots at the controls of their seaplane profiled to touch the stars …. Crazy youth .
The wind blows, moving the sand under the legs of Léontine, making his movements difficult. Arriving at the top of a poop, antennas in the wind, the plump profits, get drunk on this sweetness, soon summer will be there and it will be difficult to pass between towels and other umbrellas, so it is light and in an effort , extends all round on the beach.
The sun pampers her but the wind makes her a bit more restless, so in another caloric subtraction effort, she makes a half turn on her back, and finally stabilizes. This is where she first sees him, handsome as a god of crepe paper, colorful like a carnival day in Notting Hill, floating like a deity in the Sistine Chapel, Monsieur Kite.