Bonjour

France welcomed me with crisp, clear air and cool breezes ripe for long walks through the farms and towns near my aunt and uncles farm. Wheat season just passed, and the countryside is dotted with stacks of haybails on fallow, dry earth and I thought of a place I have been once, but before my critical eye, whose memory is now shaped by articles I have read and seen in pictures in architecture and art magazines, but not from my memory, except that fanciful restaurant with the two hour wait with a movie about radio flyers and children playing on the tv next to the fireplace whith indoor smoke, which was allowed then, where I ate broccoli soup and old world ambience. The Magnum restaurant, which may or may not be its real name but the name I remember, in or near Marfa, which is home to the Donald Judd cubes. Except I did not take pictures of the stacks or their shadows, but of the fields and the spaces and the buildings I stumbled on which housed Napolean Bonaparte as a prisoner once, and the park with the fisherman or the girl listening wontonly on the rusty park bridge to the trebly music with simple 4/4s, catchy music of course, from her phone.