Perfection in autumn

The dogwood tree in Sue's back yard is glorious. While she was away, I read Violette Leduc:

We listened to the rippling of our hearts in the dust. Tiny white horses rode in our breasts (47).

I was reciting my body upon hers, bathing my belly in the lilies of her belly, finding my way inside a cloud. She skimmed my hips, she shot strange arrows. I rose up, I fell back onto her (52).

I was kissing her shoulder, giving myself up to the shipwreck once more (68).

Seasons, give us your rags. Let us be wanderers with our hair slicked down by rain (76).

Night was taking over; night, our swans-wing covering. Night, our canopy of gulls (107).

A water-lily bloomed in my stomach, the veil of the white lady floated over my moors (109).

From Therese and Isabelle, by Violette Leduc, English translation by Sophie Lewis (UK: Salaambo Press. Written 1948, published in France 1966 and 2000, English Translation 2012).