For the light and not for the "Sun". For the heat also of course, of breweries with soft banks and foamy beers, the heat brought by voices of poet singers, Arno, Enrico, Adamo, Alain Souchon and the magnificent Jacques.
To the plain dune country, windy, sandy, with canoes, sea foam where the eyes get lost far away in the horizon line weighed with ships, with immense freighters, to...the evasion line...I like to go North.
I like to take this direction without guarantee of an "exotic ticket" but that assures, I am certain, the exile. I like to take this direction, in "contrary sense" of those of the great summer hollidays migrations, one direction, one destination that looks more like the implacable order of the exile of the plundering ones. Searching in the north some traces of the essential...to live...to survive...
Text: Yves Rousselet
Translation: Sofia Quintas