Public Story
Intersections- in the labyrinth of Morocco
How often can old cities conjure up in our minds initial questions about our existence, the historical depth that permeated our soul, About the colour of the red silt that is warm and intimate as a womb, about the hustle and bustle of children in narrow alleys. About the timid light on top of house walls and roofs. About the smell of bread in the fresh early mornings, about the coincidences and expectations we meet in our journeys . With our souls and hearts inside the scene and our bodies about to step out of it to wander in intersections
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