
Shards of Twilight
It is at the French-speaking school where,
Snowball in her throat,
She learned the value of the trillium.
The sweetness of being,
The shelter of the wings of conifers,
The breath of the wood in spring
The twilight of the piercing sun
The silence of the trees
A simple white flower
Falling under the gaze of others
Naive hope
Fragile strength
Face turned towards the sun
Despite everything,
Anchored in the earth,
The awakening of a
Snowy spring

This is what she learned,
At the age of 7,
At the French-speaking school
That even the most fragile flowers
Could be protected

Despite the shade and the light
The misery and the drought
Feet in the water
Head in the air
The fullness of solitude
And the flood of love

Between the time of wolves and dogs
The time of the cutting machines
The time of the heartbeat
The chorus of a frightened deer

This is what she learned
At the age of 50
At the French school
The cry of pain
Transformed
A gentle reminder
A return to the silence
Of love

A concentrated elixir
For the man who perceives it
The awakening of a primordial instinct
Provocation and vigilance
The spark of the present moment
And she, a useless necessity
In a world of concrete and asphalt
Compacted and contained

When man touches her pollen,
She turns to him, as if to remind him of
His own history, his nobility,
And, in a moment of grace,
A memory

A gatherer of spirits
A cultivator of souls
A hunter of ghosts
A sower of great ideas
A reminder that man is mighty
That he has in his hands the possibility
of bringing his trillium to life or of killing her

Everything depends on the sparkle of truth,
On the symbiosis of the moment,
The man’s gaze brought to his trillium
will make him discover his sense of value.
Written by Leeça St-Aubin
Photography by Suzanne T. Bohay

Written by Leeça St-Aubin
Photography by Suzanne T. Bohay