Where the wind begins? Or how far it blows? Where the wind ends? This wind upon my face. Has it filled the sails of junk boats off the coast of Myanmar? Or swept the hats off people on the streets of Panama? Or blown the steam from tea-cups around a Russian samovar? Has it howled in the darkness of some bleak Antarctic plain? Or whispered in siesta through the olive groves of Spain? Has it rumbled underground behind a New York subway train? The Sirocco to Morocco? .

This is the place where you can personalize your profile! By moving, adding and personalizing widgets.

Monday, June 29, 2015. To anything but the grass. Are we playing Hide and Go Seek? Again, little muse? I feel you in my sore wrist. Are you sitting on my shoulder? And there you are. Barbed wire, your canopy,. Twiddling your thumbs, some string. There Your brown head bobs again. Tuesday, June 9, 2015. Your blotchy skin is mine.

Oh my soul, be prepared for the coming of the Stranger. Be prepared for him who knows how to ask questions. Eliot, Choruses from the Rock.

Je le garde pour moi. Abonne-toi à mon blog! Un jours. Retape dans le champ ci-dessous la suite de chiffres et de lettres qui apparaissent dans le cadre ci-contre.