In my last post I have left you, I know, in doubt.

I left, vaillant and flickering, warrior and anxious, full of who I think I am (an artist), empty of what I can.

Here I am again, full of this silent summer months boiling, ready for the harvest and sharing.

Monday May 18th 18:17, the relief of a first day completed, a semblance of routine not to totally slide, some landmarks, the table from witch I write those lines, the branches grabbed and placed on a closet to figurate the french institut bookcase.