Whether it is morning, evening, rarely noon, the light that is born or dies, lying on the horizon, obliges me to be certain even if I cannot draw solid truths from it.
The effect, always the same, repeated and grasped many times, will have accompanied me throughout my life. I try to make every day like this, whether it is windy, rainy, grey, or blue.
Our life is our light. Fragile, powerful, drowned in nonsense, and yet moved by the same atoms that formed the suns and black holes.
I can only offer my bouquet of questions and feelings as answers, and in doing so, I can breathe as I would sail on a long wave.
Light needs its shadow and vice versa. Happiness is surrounded by volcanic precipices. Wouldn’t we live in peace if we all walked the tightrope of beauty?