J\u2019ai lu quelque part que \u00ab\u00a0la mani\u00e8re dont nous racontons notre histoire a une grande influence sur notre bonheur\u00a0\u00bb. Donc ce matin, j\u2019arr\u00eate de me lamenter et je contemple le bleu paradisiaque du ciel. Bien s\u00fbr, comme tout le monde mordant dans la vie, j\u2019aurais voulu rencontrer un artiste, un po\u00e8te, un oiseau rare qui vole tr\u00e8s haut, mais j\u2019avais d\u00e9j\u00e0 trois enfants et les deux pieds clou\u00e9s sur terre. Avec le c\u0153ur et la charpente \u00e0 l\u2019ouvrage pendant tellement d\u2019ann\u00e9es, je le confesse, les chiffres \u00e0 cette \u00e9poque \u00e9taient beaucoup plus importants que les hommes et les mots.<\/p>\n
C\u2019est ainsi que j\u2019ai m\u00fbri sans m\u2019en apercevoir jusqu\u2019\u00e0 ce qu\u2019arrivent dans ma vie ces deux terribles chipies (Retraite et Vieillesse) dont je vous ai d\u00e9j\u00e0 parl\u00e9. Avec l\u2019\u00e2ge pour s\u00fbr, s\u2019am\u00e8ne aussi dame Solitude. On perd des plumes, on perd des proches, des amis, des s\u0153urs ou des maris, et l\u2019on se retrouve le bec \u00e0 l\u2019eau. Vous vous souvenez d\u2019avril 2020, la peur du si\u00e8cle d\u00e9guis\u00e9e en horrible virus? Le temps de crier gare, j\u2019\u00e9tais esseul\u00e9e, apeur\u00e9e, encaban\u00e9e entre les montagnes avec juste mes mots pour me tenir compagnie.<\/p>\n
La sorci\u00e8re COVID raffermit mon vide et m\u2019apprit \u00e0 me taire. J\u2019avais peur de mourir. Heureusement que sur mon toit tout noir, des dizaines de corneilles piaillaient et attiraient mon attention. Je leur lan\u00e7ais des cro\u00fbtes de pain et elles s\u2019approchaient de ma galerie. Ces premi\u00e8res copines de solitude m\u2019ont gard\u00e9 en vie. J\u2019en vins \u00e0 parler aux fourmis, aux vers de terre et \u00e0 la grosse marmotte vivant sous ma galerie. La chaleur aidant, je m\u2019installais chaque avant-midi dans le gazon et j\u2019attendais l\u2019arriv\u00e9e des pissenlits.<\/p>\n
Pendant que l\u2019affreux virus ignorait encore mon adresse, \u00e0 la t\u00e9l\u00e9 chaque soir, on comptait le nombre de vieux s\u2019envolant par la fen\u00eatre. J\u2019ai eu peur, j\u2019ai eu soif; je revoyais en r\u00eave les jolis ruisseaux de mon enfance. Puis l\u2019\u00e9t\u00e9 explosa en beaut\u00e9. Des arcs-en-ciel joliment color\u00e9s parad\u00e8rent dans les rues. Je sors marcher. Devant moi, un vieux couple coll\u00e9, soud\u00e9 ensemble pour mieux avancer. Comme je les envie! J\u2019entends le bruissement des branches s\u2019\u00e9tirant au soleil; l\u2019effervescence des abeilles; le doux parfum des fleurs. Levant ma t\u00eate bien haut, j\u2019admire une parade d\u2019outardes m\u2019\u00e9crivant des mots dans le bleu p\u00e2le du ciel.<\/p>\n
Les semaines passent et le pire expire. \u00ab\u00a0N\u2019en parlez plus\u00a0\u00bb, r\u00e9p\u00e8te une speakerine am\u00e9ricaine \u00e0 la t\u00e9l\u00e9. Vite, vite, j\u2019ouvre mon clavier et mes doigts s\u2019affairent d\u2019abord \u00e0 remercier l\u2019univers d\u2019\u00eatre encore en vie. J\u2019\u00e9cris aux anges et j\u2019emmitoufle mes lignes dans du papier dor\u00e9, puis je console tout ce qui bouge autour de moi. Avec mes mots qui volent, mes phrases qui s\u2019envolent, une nouvelle vie s\u2019\u00e9crit comme un roman que l\u2019on a enfin envie de lire.<\/p>\n
J\u2019aime cr\u00e9er du sens en donnant vie aux mots. J\u2019adore commencer un paragraphe tout doucement comme on entre dans l\u2019eau d\u2019une rivi\u00e8re, puis plonger t\u00eate premi\u00e8re dans une r\u00e9v\u00e9lation. Oui, oui! Tr\u00e8s chers lecteurs, c\u2019est exactement ainsi qu\u2019arriv\u00e8rent les LETTRES DU DIMANCHE. Dans la cuisine de ma t\u00eate, je me suis mise \u00e0 composer de savoureux d\u00e9jeuners de mots. De courtes histoires pour vous mettre en app\u00e9tit, des recettes faciles \u00e0 faire de caramel maison, de sucre \u00e0 la cr\u00e8me et de d\u00e9licieux g\u00e2teaux. Plus les dimanches arrivaient vite et plus ma verve s\u2019enthousiasmait. Mon c\u0153ur rempli d\u2019amour se r\u00e9jouissait d\u2019\u00eatre en votre bonne compagnie.<\/p>\n
Sans vraiment le r\u00e9aliser, j\u2019ai fait ce que je sais faire depuis que je suis toute petite\u00a0: \u00c9CRIRE. Alors, je vous ai \u00e9crit; d\u2019abord mes recettes et ensuite la belle histoire de notre entreprise, et par ricochet l\u2019enti\u00e8re saga de ma surprenante vie. Oui, oui! Je me suis avanc\u00e9e dans la mer jusqu\u2019\u00e0 la taille, jusqu\u2019aux \u00e9paules, jusqu\u2019au large bien souvent. Vous m\u2019avez suivie; vous m\u2019avez aim\u00e9e. Vous avez peintur\u00e9 en rose toutes les taches brunes de mon corps. Vous avez fait de mon c\u0153ur un phare, un bouquet de minuscules lumi\u00e8res irradiant mes lignes.<\/p>\n
Sachez que le fait d\u2019\u00e9crire ces LETTRES DU DIMANCHE a r\u00e9veill\u00e9 l\u2019\u00e9criture qui sommeillait en moi. J\u2019ai d\u00e9couvert que mon plus grand plaisir consiste \u00e0 aligner des mots; \u00e0 jeter sur la page une histoire \u00e0 peine construite dans ma t\u00eate et \u00e0 l\u2019\u00e9crire \u00e0 l\u2019encre noire en \u00e9carquillant bien mes yeux. Ma m\u00e9moire est un r\u00e9el coffre aux tr\u00e9sors; un album de photos bien vivantes. Invitant dame Cr\u00e9ativit\u00e9 et dame Inspiration, sur la blancheur de la page, je d\u00e9pose le griffonnage du temps.<\/p>\n
En me lisant, vous m\u2019apprenez \u00e0 mieux \u00e9crire.<\/p>\n
Cora
\n\u2764<\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
J\u2019ai lu quelque part que \u00ab\u00a0la mani\u00e8re dont nous racontons notre histoire […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":414,"featured_media":42723,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[32],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-42722","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-lettre-mme-cora"],"acf":{"img_en":"","contenu_en":"I read somewhere that \u201cthe way we tell a story has a great influence on our happiness.\u201d So, this morning, I stop lamenting and contemplate the heavenly blue of the sky. Of course, like anyone with zest for life, I would\u2019ve liked to have met an artist, a poet, a rare bird who flies far above, but I already had three children and my two feet were nailed solidly to the ground. With my heart and body invested solely in my work for so many years, numbers were much more important to me than men or words.\r\n\r\nThat\u2019s how I matured without even noticing it, until two old crows I\u2019ve already told you about, Retirement and Old Age, came into my life. Then with age, Lady Solitude also came along. We lose a few feathers, we lose near ones, friends, sisters or husbands, and we find ourselves facing a void. Do you remember April 2020, the terror of the century disguised as a horrible virus? In all of two seconds, I was alone, worried, locked down between the hills, with only my words for company.\r\n\r\nThe COVID witch sharpened my emptiness and taught me how to keep quiet. I was afraid of dying. Thankfully, I had a dozen black crows on my roof cawing and asking for my attention. I would throw breadcrumbs at them, and they\u2019d get closer to my balcony. These first friends during my solitude kept me alive. I even came to talk to the ants, the worms and to the big groundhog living under the porch. As the weather became milder, I\u2019d settle each morning on the grass and wait for the dandelions to grow.\r\n\r\nWhile the horrible virus kept passing over my home, I turned on the TV to catch the daily count of elderly souls that had flown out the window. I got scared, I got thirsty; I could see pretty streams of my childhood in my dreams. And then summer came and burst into beauty. Hand-drawn rainbows light up the streets. I\u2019m out for a walk. In front of me, an old couple holds on to each other, welded together and moving as one. I envy them! I hear the rustling of the branches stretching out in the sun, the humming of the bees, the gentle scent of flowers. Lifting my head up high, I admire a parade of geese tracing words for me in the pale blue of the sky.\r\n\r\nWeeks fly by and the worst expires. \u201cDon\u2019t talk about it anymore,\u201d repeats a host on an American TV show. Quickly, I turn on my tablet and my fingers start by thanking the universe that I\u2019m still alive. I write to the angels, wrap my lines in golden paper and then console everything that moves around me. With my words flying, my sentences taking flight, a new life writes itself like a novel that we finally want to read.\r\n\r\nI love to create meaning by bringing words to life. I love to start a paragraph slowly, like when we enter a river, and then plunge headfirst into a revelation. It\u2019s exactly how the SUNDAY LETTERS came to be, dear readers! In my mind\u2019s kitchen, I started to draft delightful breakfasts of words. Short letters to whet your appetite, homemade caramel, fudge and delicious cake recipes that you could easily make yourself. The faster Sundays arrived, the stronger my enthusiasm grew. My heart, filled with love, rejoiced in your good company.\r\n\r\nWithout even realizing it, I did what I\u2019ve always done since I was a little girl: write! And so I started writing to you. First my recipes, and then the remarkable story of our business and, by extension, the entire saga of my surprising life story. I ventured into the sea up to my waist, then my shoulders and often into the open water. You followed and loved me. You painted pink all the brown spots on my body. You turned my heart into a lighthouse, a bouquet of tiny lights illuminating my written lines.\r\n\r\nWriting these SUNDAY LETTERS awoke the writer inside me. I discovered that my greatest pleasure consists in aligning words, throwing the bare bones of a story onto a page and writing it in black ink, eyes wide open. My memory is a real treasure trove, a live photo album. As I invite Lady Creativity and Lady Inspiration to visit on the white of the page, I jot down the scribbles of time.\r\n\r\nBy reading me, you teach me to be a better writer.\r\n\r\nCora\r\n\u2764"},"yoast_head":"\n