Every Sunday at seven o'clock, turns the crank of the dream machine: what happened, or what will be happening, what could be, and there we go, exaggerating the colors and the smells, the intensity, the emotions, before we come back on earth (not that we ever left, it was all in the mind)
J’adore
Merci Huguette Desneiges🙂
Isn’t it all
a matter of mind
or at least
one could say so