Morning. Warm. Bright sunlit room. Small white bare walls. Dappled brown tiled floor. A bed. I entertain myself with the notion of having stumbled into Leonard Cohen's bedroom; like the photo on back cover of Songs From A Room when he lived on Hydra. The same kind of aesthetic. Aesthetic-Ascetic. The desk, minus the beautiful mischievous smiling blond siren in a towel. Oh well....
Evening. Silence. After Palermo/Santa Fe, a comparative silence at least. I’ve fallen in love with the dog, Mora...we hang around the house together while Juan is out, she plays still with uninhibited joy of a pup. I settle in to my cabin – the small solitary room above the patio, I move the few things I have around the few places I have to put them – why is it that even in a tent this is something of a remarkable pleasure? I enjoy my solitude – or that weird partial solitude you have with an animal.
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