I found these people walking along on Google maps. I don't know them. But as I sketched them, I heard them and I started to walk with them in the sunshine. And then a line of poetry from 500 years ago started repeating in my head: Mais où sont les neiges d'antan? (But where are the snows of yesteryear?) en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ballade_des_dames_du_temps_jadis Which is weird, because this scene has nothing to do with snow. I read this line in Catch 22, 40 years ago. How does that happen? Stuck in lockdown, bombarded by grim news or silence, the mind shuffles fragments of memory and starts to tell stories. Now I am thinking about my late sister. |