I was looking for a hotel that was no longer there or that never existed. I found myself lost in dreams of the hotel room that still waited, at the top of the stairway, at the end of the passage. Imagining its interior, the window overlooking a courtyard. And shadows fell as I was looking.
Colette writes beautifully about the passing landscape, the feel of travel, and of letting go, of seeing the changing scenery unfold. There is real life and feeling to this writing: ‘Half asleep, like the sea, and yielding to the swaying of the train, I thought I was skimming the waves, so close at hand, with a swallow’s cutting flight.’
The Street Walks In 