It was summer and winter on the same day, a voyeur with a Latin look. He walked in khaki through cacti and ochres. The alleys led to corners, which collided with the millenary and current worlds. Medina, of wide squares, harmonic chaos, and pulsating people.

Walking through there was a dance, the bodies came, frantic, and quickly looked away. From the simple earthen floor, portals arose, so sumptuous that noticing them was a gift. The terraces had wide views of long trees and ornamental cupolas. From there, one saw prints and the nocturnal shine reflected in velvet the gratings of the place.

Marrakesh is an orangish city with a Golden light and richness on the loom. We played with capes, we danced with silks, and traveled in the fluidity of the path. There, there was beauty, there were myths, and there was Yves Saint Laurent. We toast to lysergic, we wake up in tunics, and celebrate creation.

Morocco, with such a striking sky, marked gardens, named colors, and invited us to dream. The feet over tiles with shapes so unique guided the mind to remember the curves of the days there.