It is only too sure that the disgusting carnage of our butcheries and kitchens
does not seem to us an evil.
Voltaire, We must take sides 1772
21:30: This evening, at the end of the first full summer day of the year – finally! – I leave the shutters on the courtyard side of the house open, this against my own habit, more so against the custom of the village. At night France closes up.
The curtain in front of door also remains open. Now and then looking up from my book, watching midsummer light slowly extinguish – a luxury after this utterly wasted spring.
22:10 pm: A Pink Dawn, my first full, newly hatched rose, suddenly seems to exude light from inside – like a candle just before it dies out, flickering with an extra effort.
Now, from my living room perspective, the rose has slowly become white. Only the new morning will give her colour once more.
22:30: While outside obscurity takes over, in the firmament of the door window a large, mysteriously blue star is beginning to show itself. On the very same spot, where that pink underwent her metamorphosis into a sheer white.
After some gazing at this miracle it turns out to be the newly purchased mosquito destroyer. Blasphemy – ‘tiny Auschwitz’ the thing has come to be called in the privacy of my inner mind’s room.
Sizzling, it is destroying stray mosquitoes, moths and flies, sending them off into another world.
This absurdity – a festively pimped up hussy, mirroring herself in the front door window.
Sierksma, La Roche 23.6 / 2016