October 31, 2016

Summer, 2016 - part II

A memory from the end of summer, hiking a mountain with my brothers and their not-so-little ones. A memory of a chilly evening camping, laughing while waiting for the first meteors, then falling asleep, and waking up in golden light. My niece and nephew running through the heather, picking blackberries, making wildflower bouquets for their grandmothers, and looking so happy.

There's a song in occitan, the dialect of southern France, that tells the story of people from this region and is called « Sem encar ci » - « we are still here ». A country of shimmering stone and deep woods, hostile and deserted, but for the men that came here to hide from persecution and made a hard, humble life in the mountains. We all live far away now, but we are still here. There is something calling us back, a song made of cold stream water and hard shadows, and we belong here, like we were cut and chiseled from the stone itself. These are my last days here before moving to the other side of the world, and everything seems sharper, brighter because of it, and I feel like capturing everything with my eyes as the camera, keeping the light, the warmth, all those moments safe behind my eyelids.

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