[Poetry] may make us from time to time a little aware of the deeper unnamed feelings which form the substratum of our being, to which we rarely penetrate; for our lives are mostly a constant evasion of ourselves.
T.S.Eliot
Friday, February 10, 2017
Sunset in Mougins
I'm wondering if Pablo Picasso, walking along the narrow streets of his village of adoption, has ever stopped at the entrance of this alley, on a warm February evening and stared at the palette offered by the sunset
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