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| | mardi, avril 13, 2004

I'm walking along the coastline. Fine stones rustling under my feet. Seagulls cry like babies in the distance on the rocks, but I look down at the line of seaweed, wood and stones.
'What are you doing?' a voice asks.
'I work here', I reply.
'So, what are you looking for then?'
'I'm collecting pieces of polished glass' I answer.
'I'll help you.' she says, looking at me, eyes lines squinting at the sun.
She's smiling, surprised.
There's nobody but us, the seagulls quarreling, sea anemones about to bloom and nosey shrimps in rockpools. So transparent they almost don't exists at all.
She hands me a small piece of green glass.
'Do you have to collect them all?' she asks.
'Yes, all.'
We've fallen in love.

| | jeudi, avril 01, 2004


and nests nestsnestsnestsnestsnestsnestsnestsnestsnestsnests.

I see them everywhere in the naked trees. Some are only a start, a few twigs skillfully balanced in the crook of a tree branch.
Empty nests make me sad. They are so desolate.
I decided to collect them, but empty old nests fall apart when i try to lift them.

Do I need to wake up and make a nest?

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