A not long time ago, when I was reading the new Murakami book, Killing Commendatore, I've met an expression I liked. Well, meeting an expression would be closely similar to meeting an Idea or a Metaphor, in an embodied form that is, and thus in close vicinity to the subject of the book itself. Nevertheless, before I make things sound even more complicated, the expression I've met is The wisp of a cloud.

Now how is that related to my holiday? Time flies or flows, God knows, and things that seem tangible and present become indiscernible in the labyrinth of memory. It is not that I forgot, although Ab. made e detailed plan of our journey. He has the gift to recall each day with its minute details and if days were a line of well-trained and obedient soldiers. To me, the days are wisps of clouds, and what I recall is fulgurant sensations, smells, vegetal details, shadows, and feelings.

I remember