For some weird reason the underlying carpets of sepia colored memories and strangely intense smells and sounds has been all this time our summer trip to South France/Northern Spain in my early teenage years.
Dad showed us around, those places mattered to him. And I was so intensely alive and aware of my way, my life, my goals, my emotions and thoughts and questions. I was on a quest. I guess I still am.
The monestry built into this rock with the waterfalls....The pictures of seafood-beings (is there a name for those?) I took for my friend. The beach at Le Gurp...The songs we listened to in the car. The broken windshield (my brother kicked it in when he was in a fight with my sister it was an afternoon in South France and a thunderstorm surprised us in the middle of the Pyrenees) My dad. The tent that started swimming on all that water. It's not the facts but the atmosphere, the energy that I recapture: all these days and nights of burning heart pangs I have smelled the Pyrenees and the Stone Pine Trees...
I wonder how this has to do with my love...with you...
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