L\u2019\u00e9clat du soleil, la douceur du temps, le chant des oiseaux et le parfum des framboises; la nature m\u2019\u00e9merveille. Je recule dans le temps et me voici pr\u00e8s du petit ruisseau sur la terre de grand-p\u00e8re Fr\u00e9d\u00e9ric. J\u2019y vois ses doigts craquel\u00e9s qui m\u2019apprennent \u00e0 accrocher le ver de terre sur l\u2019hame\u00e7on; la chair rose de la petite truite dans la po\u00eale; les capelans du printemps roulant par milliers sur les plages; la grosse morue, attrap\u00e9e par le ventre et tellement d\u00e9licieuse. Je m\u2019en souviens comme si c\u2019\u00e9tait hier\u00a0: bouillie avec des lardons, cuite dans la po\u00eale pour la manger bien croustillante, servie en croquettes de patates ou sal\u00e9e-s\u00e9ch\u00e9e \u00e0 d\u00e9chiqueter avec les doigts. Nous vivions de poisson. Encore aujourd\u2019hui, quatre ou cinq de mes soupers hebdomadaires proviennent de la mer.<\/p>\n
En hiver, je suivais grand-p\u00e8re. J\u2019avan\u00e7ais dans la neige, mes petites bottes essayant de s\u2019enfoncer dans les empreintes des siennes. Mes yeux ratissant le passage emprunt\u00e9 pour d\u00e9couvrir avant lui un li\u00e8vre blanc. Je riais et je pleurais devant le petit animal pris au pi\u00e8ge. Et grand-p\u00e8re de le glisser rapidement dans sa besace. Je savais qu\u2019il allait le cuisiner avec la fameuse recette de feu grand-m\u00e8re. \u00c0 la table, je lui disais que c\u2019\u00e9tait bon avec quelques larmes tombant dans la sauce.<\/p>\n
Quel bonheur ce fut d\u2019avoir enfin six ans! J\u2019aimais l\u2019\u00e9cole. J\u2019apprenais \u00e0 \u00e9crire des mots et mon c\u0153ur s\u2019enflammait. Je composais de courts po\u00e8mes et j\u2019apprenais vite \u00e0 m\u2019exprimer par \u00e9crit. Une habitude qui persiste encore. Oui, oui! Mot \u00e0 mot, j\u2019escalade l\u2019\u00e9chelle du temps, toujours \u00e0 la recherche d\u2019\u00e9tincelles de bonheur.<\/p>\n
Un apr\u00e8s-midi \u00e0 chasser les tr\u00e8fles \u00e0 quatre feuilles, un autre \u00e0 bichonner mes fiers lupins et voil\u00e0 que j\u2019embellis \u00e0 la fois mes plates-bandes et l\u2019int\u00e9rieur de mon c\u0153ur. L\u2019ar\u00f4me des petits fruits me chavire. Dans le sous-bois attenant \u00e0 mon terrain, je cueille des fraises sauvages. Comme maman me l\u2019a montr\u00e9, j\u2019\u00e9queute chacune d\u2019elles avant de les mettre dans un sceau.<\/p>\n
J\u2019ai toujours en t\u00eate ma Gasp\u00e9sie natale tel un film inoubliable; un r\u00e9pertoire chronologique du meilleur \u00e0 me rappeler. Tout est l\u00e0, \u00e0 tout moment, dans ma m\u00e9moire, comme le roulis des vagues sur le fleuve.<\/p>\n
Je me souviens combien braves nous \u00e9tions \u00e0 Sainte-Flavie, grimpant sur les immenses blocs de glace s\u2019entrechoquant dans le fleuve. Maman nous l\u2019interdisait et, pourtant, fr\u00e9rot insistait. Il voulait planter son drapeau, mais la glace trop coriace l\u2019en emp\u00eachait.<\/p>\n
R\u00e9fl\u00e9chissons un peu. Cherchons ensemble des raccourcis vers ces micromoments de bonheur; attrapons ces \u00e9tincelles qui volettent au-dessus de nos caboches. La joie, j\u2019en suis certaine, est une nourriture c\u00e9leste qui allonge nos vies.<\/p>\n
J\u2019ai toujours vingt ans lorsque je converse avec un arbre centenaire, lorsque, tout doucement, je d\u00e9guste chaque ligne d\u2019un beau po\u00e8me, lorsqu\u2019un vieil ami me raconte sa derni\u00e8re conqu\u00eate ou lorsque ma petite-fille m\u2019invite au resto asiatique pour souper.<\/p>\n
Apprivoisons la magie de la vie; tous ces moments qui nous semblent irr\u00e9els et qui sont pourtant aussi vrais que ces bonnes nouvelles qui vous arrivent de nulle part.<\/p>\n
J\u2019ai l\u2019impression bien souvent que plus je vieillis, plus j\u2019appr\u00e9cie et m\u2019\u00e9merveille facilement. Toute microsensation de bien-\u00eatre me r\u00e9jouit\u00a0: respirer l\u2019air frais du matin, dormir en plein jour sur le divan, me savonner la t\u00eate \u00e0 l\u2019eau de pluie, me gratter le dos avec cinq petits doigts m\u00e9talliques, boire mon caf\u00e9 tr\u00e8s chaud, r\u00e9ussir \u00e0 manger plus de fruits que de pain, me photographier pour les photos qui accompagnent mes\u00a0lettres\u00a0du dimanche; \u00e9crire m\u00eame en dormant.<\/p>\n
Oui, oui! Il arrive qu\u2019une id\u00e9e g\u00e9niale me r\u00e9veille en pleine noirceur. Vite fait, j\u2019empoigne mon carnet de notes. J\u2019aime me mettre \u00e0 la disposition de l\u2019\u00e9criture; \u00eatre son chercheur, son orpailleur, son conteur et celle qui tape \u00e0 la machine l\u2019histoire des mots.<\/p>\n
J\u2019ai longtemps pens\u00e9 que je m\u2019occuperais de moi plus tard. Savez-vous quoi? \u00c7A FAIT LONGTEMPS QUE MON PLUS TARD EST ARRIV\u00c9!<\/p>\n
\u00c0 bien y penser, d\u00e9cider de prendre soin de soi plus tard est vraiment pr\u00e9somptueux. Comment savoir ce que l\u2019on pourra contr\u00f4ler dans un jour, dans une semaine ou dans une ann\u00e9e? Ce pouvoir que l\u2019on s\u2019accorde est une illusion. Par contre, le pouvoir de vivre l\u2019instant pr\u00e9sent est bien r\u00e9el, ainsi que celui de se faire plaisir.<\/p>\n
Ne remettons plus \u00e0 demain ces micromoments de bonheur, ces \u00e9tincelles de joie qui nous entourent et que nous pouvons saisir.<\/p>\n
Pensez-y un brin, la vie est si courte et l\u2019\u00e9merveillement si rarissime.<\/p>\n
Cora
\n\u2764\ufe0f<\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
L\u2019\u00e9clat du soleil, la douceur du temps, le chant des oiseaux et […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":414,"featured_media":72379,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[32],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-72359","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-lettre-mme-cora"],"acf":{"img_en":"","contenu_en":"Nature amazes me, with the brightness of the sun, the sweet feeling of a warm breeze, the songs of birds and the aroma of raspberries. My mind drifts back in time and I find myself near the stream on Grandpa Fr\u00e9d\u00e9ric\u2019s land. I can see his wrinkled fingers teaching me how to put a worm on a hook; the pink flesh of the small trout in the pan; the capelins flopping on the beach by the thousands in the spring; the big cod, caught by the belly and so incredibly delicious. I remember it like it was yesterday. The fish was boiled with bacon bits, cooked to a crisp in the pan, transformed into fritters with potatoes or salt-dried and eaten like finger food. We lived off the sea. To this day, four or five of my weekly dinners consist of its delicacies.\r\n\r\nI used to follow Grandpa in the winter too. I would make my way behind him in the snow, my small boots trying to step in his big footprints. My eyes swept the path ahead and saw the white hare before he did. I laughed and cried in front of the small, trapped animal. Grandfather quickly put it in his bag. I knew it was going to end up in grandmother\u2019s famous recipe. At the table, I told him it was good as a few tears slipped down my cheeks and into the sauce.\r\n\r\nWhat a delight it was to finally turn six! I loved school. I was learning how to read and write words, and my heart felt lighter. I composed short poems and I quickly learned to express myself through writing, a habit that persists today. Putting one word after the other, I climbed the ladder of time, always on the lookout for sparks of happiness.\r\n\r\nAn afternoon spent hunting four-leaf clovers, another lavishing my proud lupines with attention. I find myself embellishing my flowerbeds and my heart at the same time. The irresistible scent of ripe fruit sweeps over me. I pick wild strawberries in the wooded area on my land. Destemming them one by one, I place them in my basket like Mom taught me.\r\n\r\nMy native Gasp\u00e9sie is always in the back of my mind like an old classic movie; a chronological repertoire of the best moments. Everything is there in my memory, moving like the undulations of the river.\r\n\r\nI remember how brave we were when we used to climb onto the enormous ice blocks floating on the river in Sainte-Flavie. Mother forbade it, of course, and yet my brother still insisted we do it. He wanted to plant his flag, but the hard ice never yielded.\r\n\r\nLet\u2019s take a moment to think about it. Let\u2019s look for shortcuts to these micromoments of happiness. Let\u2019s grab the tiny stars flittering above our heads. Happiness is celestial food that prolongs our life span, I\u2019m sure of it.\r\n\r\nI\u2019m always a youthful 20-year-old when I talk to a century-old tree; when I slowly devour a poem, line by line; when an old friend confides in me about his most recent flirtation; or when my granddaughter invites me to the restaurant for dinner.\r\n\r\nLet\u2019s learn about life\u2019s magic \u2013 all these moments that appear unreal but are just as true as good news that arrives unannounced.\r\n\r\nI often get the feeling that the older I get and the more I appreciate things, the more easily I marvel at what surrounds me. Every microsensation of happiness thrills me: breathing in the fresh morning air, napping on the couch in the middle of the afternoon, washing my hair with rainwater, soothing an itch with the help of five metal fingers on the end of a stick, drinking my coffee piping hot, succeeding in eating more fruit than bread, taking pictures for my Sunday letters, writing even when I\u2019m asleep.\r\n\r\nI\u2019m not kidding! Sometimes an amazing idea shakes me awake in the middle of the night and I grab my notepad. I enjoy being at writing\u2019s service, being its researcher, prospector, storyteller and the one who types out the story of words on a keyboard.\r\n\r\nFor the longest time, I thought I would take care of myself later. But you know what? My LATER arrived A LONG TIME AGO!\r\n\r\nCome to think of it, deciding to take care of ourselves later is presumptuous. How do we know what we\u2019ll be able to control in a day, a week or a year from now? The power we feel is an illusion. On the other hand, our power to live in the present is very real; just like our right to choose happiness.\r\n\r\nDon\u2019t put off these micromoments of happiness until tomorrow, these sparks of joy that surround us and are within our grasp.\r\n\r\nThink about it. Life is so short and rarely do we allow ourselves to feel the wonder in front of us.\r\n\r\nCora\r\n\u2764\ufe0f"},"yoast_head":"\n