Cool...

Devotion


I write of trees, a repetition of figure-eights, the magnetic pull of love. Not certain of how much time has passed, I cease writing, rush past the curving back of Neptune, down the stone steps, hurrying to the nearby train station. Alain regards me quizzically. Aurélien asks me whether I took any photographs. Only one, I say, a picture of a word.

—Patti Smith