Jean Siccardi

Up there, eternity

When the gaze skims the immensity, when eternity, like a tightrope walker, grazing ridges unreal, when the spirit is awakened in observing nature, when the soul understands the flight of the bird, when you clink to the dancing gesture of the chamois, when intelligence grasps the language of the wolf, when the sensitivity touches the mist of the falls, when the bells drive the shepherds, when the flower composes a harmony of intoxication, when man is tiny, humble, small and when silence composes cantatas of crystal, when creation celebrates the splendour of the worlds, when the rivers and streams regain their legitimacy, then we are close, very close to paradise, fertile ecstasy, mystery and its divine depths.

Ignoring the limits, property, territories, borders, this is nature’s vote. The power of Mercantour exhales its range of ocher, its colourful blooms, its pastel colours to the languor of the universe.

Here, the amphitheatre is a festival, the cliffs, carnival; peaks and summits are unleashed in a magical dance. Here, mountains and plateaus, meadows and forests, valleys and glades, like ships with purple sails, guiding a man toward a miracle without end, to a future of peace and beauty.

Jean Siccardi

Born in Nice, lives in Saint-Cézaire, in a former chapel overlooking Cannes and the Esterel. He shares the hallmark of an Italian last name, along with several million inhabitants of the area between Marseille and Menton: a hallmark of grandparents who migrated from Piedmont into France at the beginning of the century. It is from these “mixed” roots that he has taken the characters and feelings that represent the force of his brutal, romantic and funny stories. He is the author of the collection “Terres de France” of Presses de la Cité, a magnificent novel set in Proveance.

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