Every morning, Nicolas Turon pays tribute to his department with a funny, tender and knowing text, in the form of a declaration of love for the Moselle. He chooses an emblem belonging to history or current events and treats it in an offbeat way.
Global warming is such that, soon, the Moselle will resemble California.
In the gardens of Ars-Laquenexy, peaches, nectarines and almonds will be grown.
The stone of Jaumont, attacked by drought, will open up holes, so much so that Saint-Etienne Cathedral will resemble a large piece of Gruyere cheese. Tropical animal species, escaped from the Sainte-Croix park, will invade the territory. In the evening, the big cats will go to drink at Ballastière; intrigued, giraffes will contemplate the bells flying in our churches while the vultures will form a circle above the remains of climate-sceptical Moselle residents who went out without hats in the middle of the afternoon or those of a new kind of sick people, who will have succumbed to an antediluvian virus released by the recently thawed layer of permafrost.
On the A31, renamed the “Autoroute du soleil”, a long line of vehicles will migrate towards Luxembourg to fill up… with drinking water, the ducal state having negotiated the purchase of groundwater against a promise of banking secrecy. They will be the echo of their grandchildren who also went to Luxembourg for the Cactus.
The department will probably be headed by a small clientelistic boss, with a Donald Trump tan and UV-burned hair, like him, who will spend his time trying to minimize the greenhouse effect, talking about a rather tough summer. Still, President, it's so hot that corn grows straight into popcorn!
No more mulled wine and Manele in December; our Christmas parties will focus on cocktails and sorbets. Everyone will be dressed like little Jesus in the nativity scene: in underwear. Bitcherland will be nothing more than an ocean of umbrella pines. Elsewhere, the vegetation will be almost exclusively composed of cacti, and the prickly pear will replace the mirabelle plum.
It is in order to prepare us for this new paradigm that the CIAV, International Center for Glass Art in Meisenthal, blew its last Christmas bauble. Imagined by the designer Mark Braun, and called Kaktus, it questions us about the near future that I have just described to you in a bit of an exaggerated way. Well seen, the CIAV! Soon there will no longer be a need for a kiln to blow glass; All you have to do is hold your cane out the window of your air-conditioned accommodation.
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