My first memories belong to the surreal landscape of childhood. Cushioned in tenderness, they flicker a blurred reel of mango trees, mud pies and mosquito screens. Occasionally, through the fuzz, concrete moments come into focus. For me, the first of those is the imprint of a rainy afternoon in a library.
If I were here. If I were here the morning light would be Marie-Antoinette-blue. I would push one of the cane chairs to face the other and I’d recline between them. My light grey linen dress would be trimmed in French lace and the fabric would gather around my ankles like a cloud heavy with […]