Outubro 2007, Vila Nova de Gaia
Floating like an airplane on clouds, the boats cut the brown surface of the river, like a camel through the desert. Can there be anything more important than getting to the other side? Probably, but why does the sun set on the bridge? And why do the north winds always find their way south? The stream runs to the ocean and the boats try to find their way home.
"I was happy in my harbour, before you cut me loose".
1 comentário:
a estima do passado deve ser sempre a alavanca emocional que nos provoque doces saudades do futuro!
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