Sitting absent-mindedly on the terrace, trying to gather the last three rays of light with the untannable skin on my legs, before a huge cloud hides the sun, after having picked up a random book from the unread shelf of my bookcase. It’s As I Lay Dying. Started reading inattentively, the mind busy with flash-guns and reflectors, with my tenses (present, past, future) all messed up. Got caught by words. Reached without breathing page two, then ran quickly into the flat again with the strong urge to write something. Anything. About my Asian neighbour’s colourful laundry I was watching earlier. About the earsplitting scent of oleander coming from below. About the dog sitting with his head on my right foot.
It is a strange day, made of a relaxed solitude. I must have felt like this the day after the one I started walking for the first time. Toddling without somebody else’s hand to keep me standing on my feet. Let’s not forget it.