Moving to a new country has little to do with changing location. Or even adjusting to a new temperature, or a new culture. There is all of that, sure, but it is primarily stepping into a completely new sphere of existence, absolutely cut from the one you are leaving. You…

Now – Eternity. Oak trees tower over long forgotten trails. Olive trees twist and turn in frozen dances. Palm trees hang out over weary pools.
Rocks and stones, hieratic and solemn; witnessing, recording, remembering. Fleeting millennia pass by, shadows forever rushing to the next horizon. And youth, always trying to grow…

The Sun is up, searing. Suzanne strolls on her way back to the school, with a few vegetables for tonight. She woke up a few hours ago; François is already up in the hills with his team. He always leaves early, when the Sun is not yet a murderous welding…

All of it hers. Well, theirs. But mostly hers though. The kitchen towels, the mugs, the plates, the cutlery, the pans, the pots, the taller pots, the coffee pots, the teapots, the porcelain cups, the sauce jug, …. Wait, the sauce jug?? Oh well, appearances are everything, is it not? You…

Ferry was a misleading name, perhaps. Two tree trunks tied by a collection of mismatched planks, nails sticking out and the largest collection of hemp ropes, that was the “ferry”. It was presently nicely splashing across the ochre waters to the far shore. The only truly reassuring thing was that…

She was trying not to be, but she was impressed. The squat truck literally growled, a predator waiting to be unleashed. Technology had usually little to no interest for Suzanne. Men and their toys, right? As a man, François was duty bound to pace around it, follow the station quartermaster…

Sun like a hammer, streets like an anvil. But for the blessing of the breeze blowing in from the lake. Dusty shade inside, sliced by the sunbeams of Persian shutters. The suitcases are by the bed, unopened, as yet. Suzanne stares at the floor of the hotel room. Bare wood…