Where You Are Is Who You Are.

Whatever A Guidebook Says, Wether Or Not You Leave Somewhere With A Sense Of The Place Is Entirely A Matter Of Smell And Instinct.

Memory Is, Of Course, A Trickster.

All Afternoon In The Deck Chair, I Try To Describe To My Notebook The Colors Of The Water And Sky. How To Translate Sunlight Into Words?

There Is No Technique, There Is Just The Way To Do It. Now, Are We Going To Measure Or Are We Going To Cook?

Like Fanning Through A Deck Of Cards, My Mind Flashes On The Thousand Chances, Trivial To Profound, That Converged To Re-create This Place. Any Arbitrary Turning Along The Way And I Would Be Elsewhere; I Would Be Different. Where Did The Expression "a Place In The Sun" First Come From? My Rational Thought Process Cling Always To The Idea Of Free Will, Random Event; My Blood, However, Streams Easily Along A Current Of Fate.