02 06 2019
The father intones a melody, an ancient sound fills the room. The daughter listens with closed eyes.
They are two hundred, they come from Paris. I hear them talking about Place Saint-Sulpice, of Alsatian wine, of the time it takes to leave the city and reach the sea; two hours they say.
Left foot first, right foot then, a vortex of women draws a kaleidoscope of fabrics and voices.