Time goes by.

This weekend, my dad and me visited his grand-mother - great grand-mother for me - and we went to her old house, and the old farm, on the Bords de Garonne .

My father grew up in this place, in this country-side, between cows, fields, his grand-parents and siblings. His grand-father, Angel, native of Italia, has been working there until his very last days. Nowadays, the activity is stopped, the fields unused, and the house is getting more and more empty, and old.


For some reasons, I have always been very proud of my dad's family, and thankful for being what I am now, because we all are the fruit of the last generations, theirs efforts, their sweat, and their blood. 

Doesn't matter if time goes by, and people and things get old, I feel like the only thing to say is thank you.

Sur les bords de Garonne j'ai laissé mon passé,
Mais que l'on me pardonne s'il me vient à penser,
Qu'aussi loin que me conduira cette vie,
Je sais que mes racines sont ici.

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