It was that very day of the gale.

It assaults our two bodies on the flank of the hill; it comes out of infinity and sets roaring the tawny forest foliage.

We can see its agitation behind the black grille of the trunks.

It makes us dizzy to watch the swift displacement of the gray-veiled sky, and from cloud to cloud a bird seems hurled, like a stone.

We go down towards the bottom of the valley, clinging to the slope, an offering to the deepest breath of heaven, driven forward yet holding each other back.
So, gorged with the gale and deafened by the universal concert of space that goes through our ears, we find sanctuary on the river bank.