If it is true that we are permeable to the places where we live or pass or look, that there is something we can name place-mimesis. Seeing this photograph it can only be true. And I remember how I felt. And everything happens even unconsciously. In the same way, as you absorb the birdsong (as many as there are) when you go out for a walk just before dawn. Exactly as you notice the thousands of green blurs on the leaves of the grass, the reeds, the meadows. And then, the light, the vividness of the contours, as if a scalpel were cutting out objects. And you also know that everything is alive, that the peat bog behind you gives origin to a stream, the same stream where – down in the valley – as a child, you learned to swim. They’re like my own; they’re all in my mind. It is an offer that nature offers to me, recalling times gone by. No nostalgia, everything present and vital, vivid and sharpened in the light of noon. What I see is so sharp that it enters me like a laser. And it finds sensors that understand everything, that summon up everything and keep in themselves. I’m there with my body, with all of myself: an image of me, the snapshot that portrays me not distinct from the whole, without perhaps an outside smile, but intimately happy.