La marche, pour être exacte, devient comme un nouveau sujet d’étude.
I went to visit my father in England for the first time since the lockdown. I found him in his study reciting old diary entries into a tape recorder: “May 1982, The Pope..”. Click to read more
I woke up with a head of concrete, someone banging on it; and more concrete on my belly. It came on suddenly, and didn’t subside. I couldn’t eat. Robin called work to let them know he might not be able to come in. Work insisted he couldn’t come in for two weeks, and the whole family would have to self-isolate, if we didn’t take the test. I took my temperature, with the dodgy digital thermometer which insists we are a cold family – having temperatures of 35.5. Click to read more
To the light house, short length.
A young couple walks along the wooden footbridge that leads to the lighthouse. The man’s right hand rests on the woman’s left shoulder. Fly fishermen are stationed every two or three meters. Each time a fisherman takes a swing to cast a line, the couple withdraw a few steps back, laughing. Ten meters below, the pale green sea is lifted by opposing currents of salt water and fresh water. As one approaches closer to the lighthouse, the waves increase in height. Click to read more