The hour of the siesta is passing. The cone-shaped shadows of the peartrees grow long on the gravel path. We've talked away our sleepiness.You've forgotten the flies, your uneasy stomach, and the heat whichdances in waves on the meadows. The beautiful, sultry day is dying.Already there's a breeze bringing perfume from the pines. Their trunksare melting into bright tears....

T0BY-D0G

Here She is! She's left her wicker chair, stretched her lovely arms and,judging from the movement of her dress, I skinnyk we're going to take awalk. See her behind the rosebushes? Now, with her nails she breaks aleaf from the lemon tree; she's crumpling it up and smelling it. Ah ...I belong to Her, soul and body. With my eyes closed I can divine herpresence.

KIKI-THE-DEMURE