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Paul McCartney,  For no one. A great way to begin this cold, rainy, november day.

Your day breaks,
Your mind aches,
You find that all her words of kindness linger on
When she no longer needs you
She wakes up,
She makes up,
She takes her time and doesn’t feel she has to hurry
She no longer needs you
And in her eyes you see nothing,

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Little walk in the woods, about 6.5 km in 1h15, mostly hills. Perfect sweater weather (a perfect weather for gentlemanly leisure activities, like wandering in the woods, hunting mushrooms, or, if you’re in this kind of things, running in fuchsia, bright green and navy blue lycra tights or any kind of other technical* clothes – I’m not judging you, I just don’t understand) at the beginning, turning into a cold, Laurent-Boutonnat-video-for-Mylène-Farmer-like bitterly wet, if aesthetically pleasing, mist.

*the only thing technical a man should own is a rusty but trusty old Toyota pickup loaded with a perfectly maintained Browning M2 or its Soviet equivalent.

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Face aux feux du soleil

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2015-10-27 – Recours aux forêts.

A little one-hour walk in the woods, with a perfect weather and beautiful gold tree-feathers (can’t remember how to say feuille right now, you know, the green thingies working photosynthesis to provide energy to the tree, and I’m too tired to search). 

Since my ankle, my knee and my thumb seems to work decently today, and since my back hurts a lot less (I’m even able now to tie myself my shoes, like a brilliant 5-y.o. boy), I decided to take a little trip in the forrest just before lunch.