big wind and thunderstorms coming in from the Atlantic yesterday pushed back the Mediterranean front back to sea. as with humans the struggle is constant, stubborn, relentless but nature’s battlegrounds, at least around here, leave a certain kind of drama that’s beautiful, peaceful and clean but you know… it’s just a calm interlude until the next round.
that’s also the name of a fantastic novel by Iain Banks but my canal dreams aren’t nearly as dramatic, poetic nor finely constructed. i don’t dream of canals as such but since i mostly sleep next to one my waking self can’t help but think that somehow some sort of liquidy-stary impressions seep in when my eyes are closed. here’s un aperçu, bonne nuit !