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		Yonder up on the hills or the braes, the high road is shining owing to the sunbeams, replete with light ; the spark of life is glowing through every kind of body ; glee is elating all ; coltish and mature ones live in harmony ; anyone would be absolutely riveted, even spellbound, by the surroundings, which are the epitome of pulchritude, and which compel everybody's admiration. Everything around the high road receives kudos. Down in the glen, the low road incurs scorn from nearly everyone ; trees and bushes are painting it in a black hue ; dimness overcomes all, as if gloaming couldn't ever disappear ; it seems to be between Scylla and Charybdis : oblivion and neediness. Who should ever dwell in such a place ? Only some queer goblin or sprite defy the obloquy casted on the low road. Is it a quirk of fate ? For it's the low road that the fairies took, under the seal of secrecy, to bring me a marvellous gift ... 13/08/11 Isabelle Coquinot