For a few days, I had to work and rework a chapter, the one described vaguely in the previous post. The ice jam is broken now, the water is released and takes me with it.
Vertigo is always present as if I were heading towards a horizon that will inevitably throw itself into the unknown, the one where everything must begin again, or be reborn, it depends.
Time goes on, and finishing something is a matter of satisfaction, intoxication and also of despondency, a return to a light that is undoubtedly rawer. Nothing is less certain. But the field will have been plowed. In a few chapters, I will be able to rest and wait for spring.