*Louise**
Pruniers, France
There you are in little boats, silent friends, drifting, while the trees turn to winter and the ducks disappear. Do you ever catch anything, or do you sit all day long and stare into the blue-black ink water, composing poems to the deep and hidden fish? You tell yourself that this is what makes you happy, your friend agrees, the ducks agree, the fish do too.
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