Sleepless in Céret

A Nightwalk in the Labyrinth

There is always another city: busy dayville gives way to pin-drop quiet night-town, the city in summer is not the same on the edge of winter, the city of workers different than those who come to relax or retire, enjoying galleries and mountain air.

Some of us are sleepless and some, like faithful guard dogs, trained to rise while it’s still dark. I get up early, fourish, same ambition, same fiction every time: work straight, throw the words around and be done before noon. (Which words ? Letters, social media, new novel, here ?) I imagine lazy afternoons in pool halls or rowing my canoe somewhere. Happens every so often.

These photos are evidence of the silent tread of the nightbird in a town which isn’t dead at all. The buildings enact their labyrinths, tell their stories. Humans are about, walkers and workers. Dawn is on its way.

Small selection from a few maraudes. French towns tend to keep the bigger streets brightly lit. Believe it or not, color saturation has, in most cases, been toned down. I can’t figure out how to adjust for size here on substack, so a few look a touch blurry. Apologies.

Two Towns

Any labyrinth gives you a choice of where to enter. Do you prefer the narrow streets with their eyes closed or the arty plaza complete with fountain inspired by Picasso ?