The Flight of Marc Chagall

He wakes up, still sleepy and rheumy-eyed, and talks about how he flew above the village the whole night, looking at the roofs under the snow and the church, yellow with blue domes, street cleaners and hunched passers-by ….He speaks without stop…

Nona And Her Madam

Dies slowly he who does not travel,
who does not read, 
who does not listen to music,
who finds no charm in himself.
 Dies slowly he who transforms himself to a slave of habit,