Sand

Sad

Sleep

Now there’s no wax for You; so think about yourself

No houses, not even a shepherd’s hut or a cave, the cold at night is severe, be prepared for spells of mist and rain

A brief transformation, a boy consumed a snake that was lying dead by the roadside

Night brings no respite. An oracle was this site
There is no ferocity
Nothing

The idea of blue to be quite

Light blue

Deep

The sea has retired from its old beach, and half-wild cattle browse on the site of those lordly quays and palaces. Not a stone is left. Desolation

Dust

The brigands were sleeping when the others fell upon them

And here they kneel, candle in hand, on the wet flags of this foetid and malodorous cave, gazing in rapture upon the blandly beaming idol

A landscape so luminous, so resolutely scornful of accessories, hints at brave and simple forms of expression; it brings us to the ground, where we belong

Looking at it from above, it certainly resembles an old river-bed

Another bed in this den, opposite my own; it is occupied. The head of a youth emerged, with closed eyes and flushed features. A series of groans and spasmodic kicks, that subsided once more, only to recommence. A flute projected from under his pillow

My soul lies on your pillow, caressing you softly. As a bird outside nest, I am alone and lost. What sadness, here is the desert who suffers from your silence, anticipating one endless kiss

Like an interview with myself
Your silence speaks. Useless saying anything A profoundly melancholy spot

I was glad of the brief vision.