Another week and August will disappear. With him, on tiptoe, summer will begin to bow out.
This summer almost slipped me between my fingers and I did not experience it as I would have liked, a bit as if my joy was fared and that I was bending under the absurdity of the gravitors who dictate our daily lives.
At the beach, I brought a few books with me but I did not take a swimsuit. In recent years, I have been resistant to simple happiness of the sea.
To reconcile myself with the azure blue, I even leafed through the “Noces à Tipaza” from Camus whose intensely hedonistic sentences have never been equaled.
This story brings me back to so many dazzling beaches and dives. Child in Raoued, adolescent in Ez-Zahra, La Marsa and Cartthage, then young adult on all the beaches on the coast.
I remember the beaches of Chaffar and Sidi Mahrez, those of Korba, Kélibia, Béni Khiar and Tazarka, those of El Haouaria, Korbous and Oued El Abid.
I remember the beaches of Djerba and Kerkennah, especially in Sidi Mahrez and Bounouma. I remember the late discovery of the beaches of Zouara or Rejiche.
I also remember the beaches of a lifetime: Bouficha, bechateur, Metline, Cap Serrat, Cap Angela, Nabeul, Hammamet, Amilcar, Carthage Presidency, Chebba, Zarzis and elsewhere.
I would have to settle a summer day, by the water to write my blue seasons, tell my story of the shore and swim between the jubilation of the waves and the lessons in history.
In Kélibia, between several beaches, my heart balances. As it is Sidi Mansour that I always preferred, it is likely that tomorrow, I am starting in an impromptu equipped.
Maybe to Tamazghat, Ezzahra, Hammam Ghezaz or Kerkouane. I dope by rereading Camus and dreaming of new sea wedding in Kélibia.
