EAU d’E

A wood as a group of trees, plants that fit in a suitcase, and trees sprouting not so far from a cocktail bar, at the back, in the Beijing’s botanical garden.
A country house with a damp and cool wine cellar from which is possible to glimpse the porch, the citrus trees in the pots, the cypresses down the alley.
A night of fumes and shadows, resin remains on the shears, alcohol to clean the blades.
The thought of a lazy moment, bedroom made for love and drawing.
British blankets stopped at the customs, on the way back from an ex colony.
Where the incense was burning they placed, few days ago, a vase full of flowers, it’s the gate to a courtyard, the carriage of a train, a boat in winter.