Clin d'oeil

As far as I can remember, picking books has always been an important step in leaving for a trip. I still remember laying down Harry Potter et le prisonnier d'Azkaban in my tiny storing space before leaving for Alberta when I was 12 years old. I also remember reading Bernard Werber and a tiny bit of Montaigne until (too) late in the night 3 years ago, in Brussels, because of the jet lag.

This time, I decided to take L'Océantume and Sailing Alone Around the Room with me. I opened Sailing Alone Around the Room (Billy Collins) and flipped a few pages, as I sometimes do. Here is what I read on the fourth page:

Walking Across the Atlantic

I wait for the holiday crowd to clear the beach

before stepping onto the first wave.

Soon I am walking across the Atlantic

thiking about Spain,

checking for whales, watersprouts.

I feel the water holing up my shifting weight.

Tonight I will sleep on its rocking surface.

But for now I try to imagine what

this must look like to the fish below,

the bottom of my feet appearing, disappearing.

Is not it nice?

Aimée