Sheltering Sky
"He did not think of himself as a tourist; he was a traveller. The difference is partly one of time, he would explain. Whereas the tourist generally hurries back home at the end of a few weeks or months, the traveller, belonging no more to one place than to the next, moves slowly, during periods of years, from one part of the earth to another. Indeed, he would have found it difficult to tell, among the many places he had lived, precisely where it was he had felt most at home". PAUL BOWLES
It's not you, it’s me -you haven’t changed that much after all. But I have, and I am sorry but honest when I tell you that I no longer feel the same. Of course you still beautiful and inspiring, and I am sure others enjoy you as much as I did. But you are nothing but my past.It’s cold on the bridge, but I am warmly dressed. I look through the river and I see on the north shore the towers of the Kremlin, those eternal domes that caught my fertile imagination a few years ago. I look down and I see the water flowing slowly, dark and cold, unstoppable. This place is part of me. But the voices I hear are different. Moscow is no longer home.
previous posts
the place where I come from: older posts
- August 2005
- September 2005
- October 2005
- November 2005
- December 2005
- January 2006
- February 2006
- March 2006
- April 2006
- May 2006
- June 2006
- July 2006
- August 2006
- September 2006
- October 2006
- November 2006
- April 2007
- May 2007
- June 2007
- July 2007
- December 2007
- January 2008
- May 2008
- June 2008
- February 2009
- August 2009