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one picture that tells a story about my morning. the snow, the smallest apples, a tree. I love when this happens. a cluster of happiness. of moments.

one picture that shows a problem I’ve been having with my minolta instant pro. whenever I shoot without flash, the shutter speed is too long, even in good light conditions. I don’t know how to fix this. and it makes me sad inside. so please tell me…

one picture that reminds me about the smell of rain. two strangers suspended in time. they need more. I need to write more.

esther. wow thank you. I really like your work so you couldn’t make me happier. and no need to be jealous at all.

sabine. thank you. have a lovely holiday. x

madeleine. I really think that it’s safer for us to try and escape the reality from time to time. daydream is what keeps me – and I suspect, us – going.

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a star on the snow. it might have been meaningless to others, but deep-inside, I knew.

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on my corner of the earth, there is no such thing as being too busy seeing the world through a polaroid camera. I miss it here. see you after christmas.

Cathy, thank you. warm – and waterproof – boots are a must around here. x

thank you Amanda. it’s not alwasy easy to see the beautiful thing around us when we live so fast. but sometimes, it feels good to slow down, doesn’t it?

Sabine. thanks for the kind wishes. I will keep my fingers crossed and my hands tied to the computer for a more efficient writing that it is right now.

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they say it’s going to snow this week. golden avenues will turn into cotton.

now, I just keep my fingers crossed, wearing a thick wool hat and warm boots. ready for the magic to happen.

anne-laure. j’adore la notion de se creer une sorte de vie paralelle ou seuls les moments precieux sont conserves.

esther. it’s somtimes difficult to see what others can see in my writing and pictures. for me, they act as a reminder of that little secret corner of my life that I love so much.

kristina. and it was indeed like a dream. we were forced not to leave tips according to the japanese custom. but the warmth of the place and the fact that the waiter kept refilling our cups with hot tea felt perfect.

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it was very cold that night; almost too cold in fact. lights from a small japanese restaurant would glow. we entered, almost feeling like we had to take our shoes off.

the menu was written in japanese, the matching anecdotes in english. with that jolly tone only japanese natives can master.

it felt like walking on a cloud, with never-ending cups of hot genmaicha tea.

laura. it might just be me, but I find your words beautiful. and very accurate. time and place.

tim. I love the ‘when no one is looking’ part. it’s so true. a couple of weeks ago, I was talking with an almost stranger who was all about technology and making money with blogs. he wouldn’t hear or understand that the main reason I write or photograph is to keep a record of things I love.

lucy. and you do. beautifully.

kyle. that’s quite interesting. in life, it’s not always easy to find people who are dealing with the same issues as you are. and it’s even more difficult to share those issue with the people who surround you because sometimes, it feels nice to forget about everything and just be happy.

jessica. we’re definitely on the same page here. my favourite blogs might not be the most prolific, but they always seem to make me enter in a state of bliss. and thanks for the kind words.

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at times, I have so many things in my head that I feel petrified. unable to see what I want or what I should be doing. but I guess our fears are both boundaries and triggers, so let’s go for the latter.

for some time, I’ve been questioning the essence of blogging. I guess I’m not talking about foodbeam; because, there, it makes sense for me to speak about something I know.
but here, on my petit navire, it’s been feeling awkward. life is not something we can master. so really, is it possible to write about this? and if we do, what’s the point?

and yet, when I read other people’s words, they make me travel, discover unexplored parts of the world or even – and perhaps more importantly – unexplored parts of the mind.

because life may not be our core competency, but it’s something we can share with the people we love and who love us.

and I really hope that wherever you are in the world right now, this little space – pointless or not – does bring you happiness, just like my own life does.

I would very much be interested in what makes you write or read a personal blog?

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they had met during a night made of cold wind, unmatched socks, cherry lollipops, and possibly too many monkey glands.

it might have been the smudged glitters around her eyes. or the fact that they had the same front teeth.
but that night, they kissed. they stopped breathing. they screamed; at times with reasons, most of the time without.

a storm. pouring rain. to the eye, they were just sat on the watered down pavement. but details as such should be forgotten.
they knew they were undersea; submerged, deep. running away from surprises and ignoring alarms.

after all, there was a storm in progress.

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jumping in puddles, boots, rain, leaves, coffee at the park, pom-pom hat, eating liquorice, pumpkins, walks, smell of new books, hazelnuts on the pavements, dream shop, flickr socks, making brioche.

it was such a sweet time. full of alarms and surprises. sometimes bad, mostly good. with a special thought for that little squash pretending it’s an acorn. sometimes, I also want to pretend I’m an acorn.
how was your month?

happy november.

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november. somehow, you’re never given the credit for the smell of rain, the fallen leaves, and the cinnamon coffee lattes. you should be.

one month. one hundred words a day; her words. as a thank you for how beautiful you are.

let’s call this little project the smell of rain. for now. for only excuse the fact that it’s my favourite. ever.

that day, she woke up to a cold room; a cold empty room. with a bottle of wine and an ashtray – bursting with what once were the cigarettes he liked -, as the only evidence that it wasn’t always so cold in this house.

it all felt like a dream. one that, no matter how hard you try, can’t be remembered. she was there, sat on a train and looking through the window.

and as the hours turned into seconds, it happened. she saw.

she saw how pointless her attempt at remembering something that can only be felt was.

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a squash pretends to be an acorn. the pavement hides underneath a thick carpet of golden leaves. some chestnuts tarts are being made.

a collection of small happenings that – unintentionally – celebrate the new season.

it’s been one of those days today. a day where the only camera worth photographing with rhymes with impossible and the only music worth listening to involves raindrops.

tomorrow, I’m back to work. with too many side-projects in mind. projects like gathering foliage for an herbarium, finishing my application to the awards of excellence, photographing what surrounds me, writing love lettres, finding the perfect coat, or creating pâtisserie e-courses for foodbeam.