The temperature is rising or is it is the superb mauve cashmere sweater I found two days ago in a small second hand shop that keeps me warm? Or have I got used to the cold?
I take some photos around as a way to tame this new space. I read the poems of D.H.Lawrence written in Taos. And I constantly re-open Debra Bloomfield’s book: Photos of sceneries and of small, old churches in the Four Corners (Utah, Arizona, New Mexico and Colorado).
A strange dialogue takes place between the vast landscapes often taken with almost no light and the intimacy of the interiors of the churches. No artifice.
Sitting now next to the stove in an old pink armchair worthy of an English interior, I can see the night sky turning blue and then black. I know that above the house the moon is shining. Earlier, when returning home, it looked so pale through the golden tops of the trees. I feel more contemplative than ever, another way to tame this place. Living here is so different from travelling by car in the Southwest as we did with Cecile.
Hey, I hear in the distance a siren, exactly the same sound as in New York when one hears them through double-paned hotel windows. Pitch black beyond the window.
As usual, I have forgotten my tea, now cold.