Ocean

Dry, hot air. It should rain. People talk of storms. There are no storms. In the evening, the sun turns a fierce red. Defiant. Tomorrow you...

I sit at the back of the Honda CM200. One curve, another, the hot air pummels my face, my bare arms, we're there. We get off and watch. ...

Reminders. You're here, but your mind drifts. And sometimes, you're flooded with recent images. Like, when you see these: where am I...

I need a day to catch my breath and make sense of the mess before me. Tomorrow, okay?

This day. Ask, and you shall receive. I leave Paris sadly. Oh, so sadly. I live here in my soul (do we have souls?). Occasionally, I have be...

I tug my suitcase to the Nice train station. The Provence wind is kicking in. The skies become violently blue, nothing is stable. I wonder h...

So the city grows on you. You find your favorite beach, the best streets to walk, the place to return to for good seafood and it all fits. A...

On my last days now. I have got to tear myself from the adhesive that glues me to a beach chair each day. One town. Let me visit just one ot...

At some point, one has to pack up and return home. Many would roll an eye at that, given how many days I spend on this side of the ocean. I’...