Thoughts that pass through the mind. A sudden flash, a way of seeing the world. A desire to share.
“Writing is my remedy
against the impermanence
of things.”
I love this confession by Martin Eden, in the words of Jack London:
“Sometimes I feel as though the world, life, everything… were calling out to me, demanding that I give them body in writing and become their voice.”
This feeling is profoundly familiar to me. It is one of the reasons why I write.
In spring, in Provence, fields of grain create lakes of shimmering green. The ears of corn, bending in the wind, form fleeting waves, as fragile as the promised harvest, which softens our gaze before the summer reign of the all-powerful sun.
Nature has a gift for reminding us that we are not alone.
Love without respect for the person we love is a love disguised as self-love.
When it comes to understanding the present, I try to be as prosaic as possible, to remain faithful to the reality of others. To imagine the future, I allow myself to dream!
I love watching butterflies, for they invite us to enjoy the fleeting moment, a pleasure made possible when we forget the urgency of passing time.
