Le 14 Septembre 2015, à 17h26. Les outils informatiques sont prodigieux en cela qu'il devient désormais presque toujours possible de dater à la minute près la plupart des événements marquants d'une vie. Je me souviens de cette minute de l'après-midi du 14 Septembre 2015 comme si elle venait de s'écouler. A la fenêtre de mon appartement du 20ème arrondissement, j'ai sorti mon smartphone, un BlackBerry Q10, pour prendre une seule photo du ciel. Cette photo-ci. Litha a grimpé sur mes genoux alors que j'étais en train de l'envoyer à la personne à laquelle elle était destinée, personne dont, je l'ignorais encore alors, le téléphone ne permettait pas de recevoir de MMS. Quelques heures plus tard, à 1h12 (nous avions basculé au 15 Septembre), je renvoyais ce même cliché à l'adresse mail palliative que j'avais reçue entre temps. Je me souviens exactement de ce que je ressentais, de ce que j'ai ressenti dans les moments qui ont précédé et ...
To her, it was clear from the beginning that the most important detail had been overlooked. Not that it would change anything, of course. What she thought mattered very little, if at all, regardless of the fact that she was absolutely right and they were desperately wrong. Therefore, she was forced to hold it all back. They wouldn't have understood, they wouldn't have accepted the outburst of plain, brilliant reasoning. They were not ready to embrace it. They were not intellectually equipped to cope with it. There seemed to be no room in the current context (as there was probably no room in this world in general) for those who had a sharp and instinctive insight on the most complex situations. And there was certainly no desire, in the indigenous population currently gathered in the living-room, for little Lizzy to start expressing her opinion about the ragged way the case was currently being solved in the television set. A babbling child was bad enough to everyone's opin...