I‘m walking in the woods? What is this? That’s not what I came here for. A house? Where am I? The woods again? Who are those people? A city? What is this? I came to see Klimt. The paper said: Gustav Klimt, Viennese painter. I came to see paintings. Canvasses hanging on a wall. Klimt…
Monet’s house at Giverny is only 75kms away from Paris. Take the train at Saint-Lazare station, direction Rouen-Le Havre. Pass Mantes-la-jolie, and stop at Vernon. Skip the part where the French railroad has deliberately ignored the fact that Giverny is an hour’s walk from Vernon. (My compatriots tend to be very fact-avoiding; see the current election).…
“What is that Daddy? A dragon?” “Yes, Tiffany, it is the family dragon. It‘s been in the family for more than a hundred years.” “That’s what Lung means, right, Daddy? Dragon? I even know how to write it!” “Very well, Tiffany. Show me.” I stuck my tongue between my teeth. Took my time and proudly…
I needed to get dressed for that party the Philosopher had invited me to. And, of course, I had nothing to wear. Please do not smile my reader friend. That is always a delicate matter. The little black dress (Oh Tiffany! Oh, Givenchy!) is of course, always a possibility. But no. Too easy. I wondered…
The seagulls glide and glide over the waters. Hundreds of them. Gliding and flying effortlessly. Catch the wind. Glide a while. Then a swift stroke of a wing and glide again. Stewart is probably up there. I can’t make him out. Too many seagulls in the air. And too many ships in the waters! Reminds me…
Equinoxio 