Faugères, oh what a bread! Some glasses of that charming wine in a cool bottle, made from Grenache, Cinsault and some Carignan, all traditional varieties, some olives and a piece of sausage, dried in the sun. Sitting at the hillside. A simple memory – that remains.
Nearby, again a cool day. The small decorated animal shakes and shivers. The huge man waits quietly for the animal to sit down and do what it is supposed to do. But it doesn't.
From inside, today I painted a story. It was about a Bird and a Fish that lived for many years together. The Bird up in the sky, the Fish deep down in the sea. One day the little fish disappeared, and the Bird found itself alone up in the sky. That was the story. But in the painting the Fish is there and the Bird is gone. So looking at the picture is not the same as listening to the story.
Kvarnvik, Yesterday I had a phone call from a friend living close to my summer cottage. He told me about snow on the roofs. You know, a thick layer of snow may be too much for a roof, and the house may break down. So I went down there and did some work up on the roofs. Like on this little cottage with a thick, white cap. It was a great, sunny winter day. A winter day as I remember winter days from my childhood.
Stockholm, I walked by this morning and when regarding the ship I began thinking of inspiring things. And now in the evening, when writing, the words are gone. Things gone away remind me about time leaving. This makes me sad. 
