Far from the civilized order, her life is a chosen landscape. She remembers the glowing tree enthroned on the golden hill. The scarlet sun blazes passionately in the eyes of the silent sea. The delicious fruit sparkles on its branch, reflecting the rhythm of her beating heart. She recognizes in her fiery dreams, the precious grace of this gift of heaven. On her burning lips, the irresistible nectar pours its final tear. The white caress of the eternal light seems to evaporate. The last glimmer flickers in the dark and stormy water. The blue hour rings. In the embrace of the curve of the lake, in the nostalgia of the fruit, in the melody of the flower, the dreams of an inner life are now bursting. Perhaps one day she will find the freshness felt from the first morning of her childhood, the first morning of the world.