I will be the apostle of light as long as I live. I'm not so sure about that, even if it's my desire. I will also accept the bloody hands of the shadows, sculptors of the eternal splendors that slip through our fingers. I am a Don Quixote of cliff words, temperate waters. Many ships populate my lagoon oceans.
I must continue on the theme of light. After work last week, it was still too hot for autumn. People willingly walked barefoot in the park, young people, bare-chested and beautiful, juggling. I was too hot with my vest and windbreaker, as if from a season too far ahead of its time.