Thursday, July 26, 2007


The music of Georges Moustaki goes well with strong coffee and the wind from the fan on this quiet afternoon. I finished my work and am yielding to the loveliness of his arpeggios.

"La femme qui est dans mon lit n'a plus vingt ans depuis longtemps", he sings. "The woman who is in my bed hasn't been twenty years old for a long time." What singer in English would admit to that?

There's something very sweetly middle-aged about this afternoon. the light at five o'clock is both golden and gray. I'd like to be as old as Georges and know how to love differently.

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