Isn't it queer how we have strange dreams while sleeping in the heat of the sun?
Sent a few postcards home but can't imagine them arriving there before I do.
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20120807
Sunday July 17, 1977
6th after Trinity. To Port d'Es Torrent, if that's how you spell it. Topless bathers on the rocks. The lovely smell of pine needles. I slept for most of the time.
Isn't it queer how we have strange dreams while sleeping in the heat of the sun?
Sent a few postcards home but can't imagine them arriving there before I do.
-=-
Isn't it queer how we have strange dreams while sleeping in the heat of the sun?
Sent a few postcards home but can't imagine them arriving there before I do.
-=-
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