It`s true that one, it would seem, in foregin lands with a foreign tongue, seeks solace in one`s own native words...I write so much here.
And the imagination, starved, sometimes, on life in these solicituous moments; conjures up the bizzare, the colourful, the crazed, the dead with balloons floating out of their mouthes. Every encounter leaves an imprint.
& too, that, my french is growing and growing. I haven`t spoken english, or almost nothing, in ten days now...look, look, what is building built inside of you!
and coffee and long searching walks by the fleuve met with the salty sea air in the morning, living in this little chalet until the days turn brighter again..and wine, cheese, homus, tomatoes, figs, apples, peppers, orange juice.
and my skin ready to burst in the need to be touched.
but shhhh, create, create, someday will come. someday..