I think sometimes that I am not a woman, but the light that falls on this gate,
on this ground. I am the seasons, I think sometimes, January, May, November; the
mud, the mist, the dawn. I am arch, gay, languid, melancholy by turns.
όλοι ψάχνουμε κάτι να μας σώσει
όλοι ψάχνουμε κάποιον να μας σώσει
