On the road connecting Balagne to Saint-Florent, a rock has borne three half-erased white words for decades. No signature, no date, no explanation. Just a declaration of love addressed to time.
It's there. On an ordinary rock, at the edge of the departmental road that descends towards Saint-Florent, in a setting of dry grass and scrub that no one ever notices. Three words and a first name, painted in white thirty years ago, maybe more. Fanny, I…
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On the road connecting Balagne to Saint-Florent, a rock has borne three half-erased white words for decades. No signature, no date, no explanation. Just a declaration of love addressed to time.
It's there. On an ordinary rock, at the edge of the departmental road that descends towards Saint-Florent, in a setting of dry grass and scrub that no one ever notices. Three words and a first name, painted in white thirty years ago, maybe more. Fanny, I…