El Otro Cielo (Noah)

El Otro Cielo

Following Cortázar, or, more properly, not following Cortázar, for who needs to follow Cortázar--a state of mind, perhaps, more than a place--wandering through the dusty arcades--el Pasaje Güemes, o La Galerie Vivienne--as if the details of a French metropolis could be somehow transposed onto the waiting breast of Buenos Aires...

Rather a morning, with three crows...

The Commisar of Fowl

A barnyard in Smolensk, the thick Russian autumn--muddy paths, windy trees. A brown cast to the air--as if mushrooms were melting, gryby--an essential word, from the soil, ancient Slavic rites, behold.

Kampinos, the forest just outside of Warszawa. Half an hour on a commuter train, a refuge during the war. We met there once--also for mushrooms. Grzyby. Again, those same sounds, the "g" from down below, then softened--"rz"--made hesitant, ambiguous...

Jeszcze Polska...

Torino: Il loro dignità

Carpatii

Flor en Otoño

Valley