I Got The Idea That To Write

I'm Just Fascinated By Houses. In Another Life, I'd Have Probably Trained As An Architect. If I Had Enough Money, I'd Collect Them Like Other People Collect Teapots. I Don't Know Why I Love Them So Much. I'm Just Very Interested In The Idea Of A House As A Metaphor For The Way One Lives.

The Undulent Landscape Looks Serene In Every Direction. Honey-colored Farmhouses, Gently Placed In Hollows, Rise Like Thick Loaves Of Bread Set Out To Cool.

The Words 'forse Che Si,' 'forse Che No', 'perhaps Yes,' 'perhaps No,' Repeat Along All Paths.

May Summer Last A Hundred Years.

Everything I Pick Up Seems To Lure Me Away. Everything I Do In My Daily Life Begins To Feel Like Striking Wet Matches. The Need To Travel Is A Mysterious Force. A Desire To 'go' Runs Through Me Equally With An Intense Desire To 'stay' At Home. An Equal And Opposite Thermodynamic Principle. When I Travel, I Think Of Home And What It Means. At Home I'm Dreaming Of Catching Trains At Night In The Gray Light Of Old Europe, Or Pushing Open Shutters To See Florence Awaken. The Balance Just Slightly Tips In The Direction Of The Airport.