I am a
crying machine. A sympathy crying
machine and a sadness sponge.
B’s
grandmother had a stroke and passed away while we were on Ile d’Yeu.
We went
back to the village where she grew up.
Back to the cemetery where we buried his
cousin 1 month ago.
Back to the same
mortuary.
I thought I
would drown in all the sadness.
But there
is something very survivalist about the human soul. It is as though you reach a limit and your
body and mind self-regulate.
It was
hot. We played games and chitchatted,
organized the ceremony. Had lunch and dinner outside. The sky in a village tucked away amid the hills is inky
black.
I can’t remember the last time I
saw so many stars.
The
Burgundian village of Prâlon:
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