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At The Train Station

It’s been three years since I last set foot in a train station. I, the nomad, have taken root. Naturally curious, I enjoy studying the characters that inhabit certain public places. Y et here, nothing has really changed: though the faces are different, I recognize them all. . * * * Sitting on a large duffel bag, leaning against a wall—there’s the student. He mutters to himself, eyes fixed on a thick blue binder, and despite all the noise filling the station, nothing could tear him away at this hour from his studies. A little further off, I spot a family waiting to greet one of their relatives. The father and mother chat together, glancing every five minutes at the clock. The children play, dart between their legs, circle around them, tap each other shouting, “Tag!” then burst into laughter; they bring into this hall the fresh, colorful breeze of youth. The father looks impatient, but on his face I can read a certain joy; he seems to be holding back a smile. As for the mother, however...
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I Remember - 6

Lorient harbor - Photo de Mikkel Kvist: https://www.pexels.com/fr-fr/photo/france-bateaux-port-porto-16026246/

 

I remember my two friends and me in the rented moving van that was taking us to Brittany…


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I remember the thunderstorm that battered the van's body, the wild sweep of the windshield wipers, and the sign: "Welcome to the Morbihan department" that made us laugh…


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I remember the creperie where we went to eat, our night at the hotel, and then the gargantuan breakfast… We savored those last moments of friendship together…


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I remember their departure, leaving me alone in terra incognita… and the hailstorm on the skylight that greeted my arrival in Brittany that same evening.


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I remember this new life beginning, the boxes I was opening, the apartment I was decorating, my new workplace, the colleagues I was meeting, the city of Lorient I was exploring, my walks on the beach to the cries of seagulls and the sound of enormous waves crashing against the rocks…


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I remember the tears that suddenly flowed everywhere without me wanting them to…


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I remember my efforts to banish you from my thoughts… the books I devoured, the growing pleasure I took in painting, playing the guitar, learning more about my work, and planning walks to discover this land of painters and its history…


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I remember my bus rides... the Brittany landscapes I couldn't take my eyes off... the churches, houses, beaches, ports, boat graveyards, granite crosses at intersections...


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I remember the rain that always made me think of you...






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