And yet

Toronto by Lo Snöfall

Sitting behind the wheel neither driving nor being driven, only being part of the movement, being a movement, shaping and being shaped by the long coastline and always in a Heracleitean mood, yet completely unaware of it, enjoying how the time of the road slowly is left without its seconds and minutes, its hours, a time without its divisions, a time without time, with no joints at all, in this landscape, was it Öland, was it Skåne or Norrland or south Peloponnesus, or most probably Stockholm, indeed all of them, New York even, and so many more, there was always the unexpected, within it, it was only itself, the non-existence of the expected. And yet, there is a way somewhere.

Vasilis Papageorgiou