French version : Abîme

Underneath, the water. Above, the sky. On either side, the mountains, huge and intoxicating. The sky reflected in the water. The mountains standing on tiptoes, vainly trying to reach the sky. The water flowing peacefully, looking up at the sky. A whole world in a few parts. And there it was, at the very edge of the ledge, breathing in the surrounding air. And she danced and she laughed and she laughed and she laughed. And she was shouting her head off. And she just lived. In harmony with nature. Just as nature was in osmosis… Water with the sky. The sky with the water. A bond working both ways. Not just one or the other. No. Both. Both. Sky and water. Water and sky. Mountains and sky. And she who lived in the middle. Some clouds near the mountains. White, white as snow. But the snow isn’t there yet. When will it be here? One day, maybe. But not today. The snow will still be waiting. This isn’t the time for that. For now, the clouds float silently over the mountains, mountains so high they could almost reach the sky on tiptoe. Can they? Can they? Have they ever tried? Maybe it’s possible, after all. It is often said that skyscrapers touch the sky. It’s even said quite often. But does that mean it’s true? It doesn’t have to be. It doesn’t always have to be. Could something on earth be big enough to touch the sky? These mountains, perhaps. These mountains, always trying and trying but never succeeding. But are they that high, if they can’t touch the sky, even with their fingertips? Maybe they can’t. Maybe those mountains so high are just too small to reach the sky. 

But they’re still higher than the one dancing on the ledge, aren’t they? Then they’re still quite high. But not high enough. And is she, dancing on the ledge, high enough to touch that sky, which seems so high that no one can really reach it, not even the highest mountains on earth? Probably not alone, she couldn’t. But maybe by climbing up the mountain, by going all the way up, by climbing up the flanks of this immense creation of nature, she will be able to try. Once she gets to the top, she’ll lift a finger to the sky, and maybe she’ll touch it. Maybe she can. But then she would have to try to climb all the way up there, up the side of the mountain. Maybe she’ll go. When she’s done dancing, laughing, and shouting… Someday… Someday. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe a week from now. But what’s a week to nature? It doesn’t care about the weather. And in the meantime, the water goes on its way. It goes further and further, faster and faster down the slope. And it looks at the sky, trying to touch it too. She doesn’t despair. Will she succeed? It is yet the lowest element in this landscape.

But it’s also the most determined. The most determined to touch the sky despite her position in nature. The clouds could also touch the sky. But they’re too busy arguing with the mountain on tiptoe to try to reach the blue vastness. And she’s still dancing, to music carried by the wind. Only she hears it. Her and the mountain, the water and the clouds. The sky is far too high to hear her. But the mountain tells what it has heard, and it can enjoy it too. The music never stops. She twirls, goes down to the water that always wants to reach the sky, its father. The music continues on its way, brushing against the mountain that helps him to reach the sky. The sun is there, too. It has just woken up. The music has brought it out of its dream. It rubs its eyes, still asleep. It wonders why nature is so restless. 

The mountain is trying to reach the sky, the water is looking up at the sky, smiling, promising that it will join it one day, the clouds are dreaming in the middle of it all and she keeps dancing, tirelessly. The sun stretches out and goes back to sleep, reluctant to try to understand what is happening to them. Anyway, it went to bed late the night before, and it’s tired now. And the landscape goes back to what it was before. The mountains grow bigger and bigger in the hope of reaching the blue vastness above them, the clouds float above them, the water flows peacefully as it tries to reach the sky, and it laughs, sputters, dances, screams. The sky sees the water. The water sees the sky. They look at each other.

Then the rain starts to fall. It’s all right. It’s all right. It’s all right. Water can reach the sky. Rainwater floods the mountains, and they’re tired of standing on their toes. She’s still dancing, still screaming, still sputtering, still screaming under this deluge of water that sticks her hair to her cheeks. She is alive, quite simply. And the water continues to flow, feeling the rain falling, happy that the sky has come.

Other English texts

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