[Poetry] may make us from time to time a little aware of the deeper unnamed feelings which form the substratum of our being, to which we rarely penetrate; for our lives are mostly a constant evasion of ourselves.
The main problem I have started facing, recently, is that I'm used to start projects and no longer taking them to an end. My "darkroom" folder is filling up with partial works that I temporarily park, forget and never find again the will and the time enough for opening them again and completing. This is an example that I need to remember to complete. A Summer flashback, an afternoon spent on the top of the windy island of Brac, last September.
A great opportunity for a great day. Sunday morning in Mougins, Cote d'Azur, France. Nothing better that waking up to the sound of birds singing in the wood just behind the hotel and the wind tossing the treetops.