“Brussels is not as beautiful as Paris in the autumn” Samuel always says. You need old steel and stone to bring out autumn’s magic with its brown leaves and particular light.
“Samuel always has the perfect words to describe how he feels doesn’t he…” Jane thought. She was walking along one of the Cinquantenaire Park’s alleyways. By her side, her daughter Pauline was trotting as fast as her little legs would allow her. Further ahead, the Great Mosque of Brussels emerged from the trees and the growing sight of it got the child more and more excited with each step they took.
“And he always makes me feel like such a dumb mute when we go out with friends” she concluded silently. Barely paying attention to Pauline‘s incessant babbling, she was mentally going over last evening’s outing. She felt ashamed as always and tired of being constantly conscious of her intellectual limits.
- “Come on Mummy, I can see it from here!” Continue reading
Vida y Verdad se escriben con uve… (V) de Volar
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