Thanx to Sam, I heard about the Laura’s project, Sunday project: “A trip through my eyes”, and I wanna play the game too — even if my Tumblr is more like a diary, more “what I saw today in my place”. Rules are made to be broken, aren’t they?
Tie in.
For me, the story began here. By the sea of Manche — the Channel, as they say on the other side. In a village which had lived, years ago, the WWII Landings.
The smells of the mud and the fishes in the harbor, the waves noise, the sand between toes, the seagulls shouts. And colors. Sky is more often grey than blue, as the sea, the green and the yellow of seaweeds.
When you walk at the end of the pier, you can already feel somewhere else. At the very end, over there, within reach for a little girl, the United Kingdom, Ireland, the United States, Canada… The world, not so far away.
This is Normandy, France.
Took in July, 2012.
My birthplace is full of smells. Those of the sea, the fishes, the seaweeds which dry, the shells which rot, the fuel oil of fishing boats.
«Homme libre, toujours tu chériras la mer!
La mer est ton miroir; tu contemples ton âme
Dans le déroulement infini de sa lame,
Et ton esprit n’est pas un gouffre moins amer.»
Charles Baudelaire.
(“Free man, always you’ll love the sea! The sea is your mirror; you contemplate your soul in the infinite progress of its wave, and your mind isn’t a less bitter abyss.”)
Fishing nets in harbour.
Normandy, France, summer 2011, iPhone 4.
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