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freedom, the island


That Summer I spent few days in a mediterranean island 3 km long. Iíve always thought tiny islands are my place to be : they ask you to be essential, sober and content. To measure your steps and your use of resources. To confront yourself with the immense wonder youíre part of. You breathe salt and your clothes are as rough as dry grass. Your hair is crumpled like the old press cuttings left in some abandoned yard by people who moved to the mainland. The washing line is dust. It is freedom, and boundary.

This is the short story of that experience, with excerpts from some of my favourite books about islands.
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