We know through hearsay that love exists.
Seated on a rock or under a red parasol, lying in the field buzzing with insects, our hands clasped behind our necks, kneeling in the cool darkness of a church, or settled on a straw chair within the four walls of the bedroom, head lowered, eyes fixed on a rectangle of white paper, we dream of estuaries, tumultuous surf, clearing weather and tides. We listen to the inexhaustible chant of the sea within us, as it rises and falls in our heads, like the approach and retreat of the strange desire we have for heaven, for love, and all that we cannot touch with our hands.
—Jean-Michel Maulpoix, from Une Histoire de Bleu / From A Story of Blue or A Matter of Blue. (BOA Editions Ltd.; Bilingual edition July 1, 2005)