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The hut of the sculptor
Weird , quirky , old hut seems to defy the laws of equilibrium .
Does it still stand by chance, or habit ?
The muse of wood, installed at the entrance , do not tell .
Open from sunrise to sunset, open to all winds, robins and spiders, it is populated by strange creatures.
Sitting on a dusty walk , under the gaze of giant chickens , one can meditate playing with chips scattered on the dirt floor . One can caress the sleek recent sculptures or measure the passing of time seeing at each visit , the oldest figurines crack a little more.
You can still lean to the block on which the sculptor works to read comments from previous visitors , listening to the eternal rain drumming on the roof Vosges .
Nook in shelf, shelf lean , a ghost town , a forest of mushrooms, an old woodcutter leaning on his ax , a small and mischievous clown bounced expect that we discover their silent presence .
Peaceful interlude , meet another fantasy, secret visit , almost secretly the hut, has become over the years an absolute must .
Claude JACQUESSON