photo : Ottawa River. This ghostly vision spontaneously inspired a(n almost) rhymed poem in French (not so much in English though) :
We found our ghosts/
where we had placed them/
in the river of our dreams/
where they fell asleep/
listening our lies/
but the music was nice/.
I would invent the snow, with whites and blues, some grays and shadows. Then I would be tired. I would rest for a while in the eyes of the light and would stay silent before closing my eyes.
*d’abord mis en ligne en mars 2023
Going somewhere
but not always knowing where
the road is ending 
But then there are those other ones, the ones who get upset when you are happy. They know who they are.
on a white askew cross
three syllables and some dust
to summarise life