I’ve been swimming underwater. Occasionally rising to the surface to look around in puzzlement. Dreaming strange dreams. Readjusting. Walking around with my swim fins on.
But I’m getting home more and more. Day by day. There is something unnatural about boarding an airplane and flying to another continent. You arrive too quickly. I have traveler’s bends. I imagine arriving by boat or train would be easier on the psyche. But don’t feel too sorry for me. I enjoy the out of focus feeling – the dream it takes awhile to awaken from. Especially if it was a good one.
And it was a good one.
I’m adding photos to my travel journal. I make my selections based, not on content necessarily, but on color and shape. Sort of like the way I selected the ones for this post. A mishmash.
White on white. Bliss.
The patron saint of my travel journal, Jean Paul. Much more on him in an upcoming post.
On one of rambles in the double digit arrondissments I came across this tiny cemetary surrounded by tall apartment buildings.
My journal. It’s growing!