https://juliadarolles.kabook.fr/galeries/ hourly 1 It is with a heavy heart that I write these words, a total upheaval, a great wave of doubt. Did I do well to come here, alone? Ulaanbaatar, a vertiginous city, its streets disorient me, I walk, lost, and time flows, carrying my worries away. Animals appear like strokes of color — beige, brown, black, sometimes like galloping hair. The yurts rise gracefully in the space, elegant, beautiful, and even the highest mountains of France cannot rival the grandeur of the Mongolian peaks. On the train, I lean out the window, and my breath catches: white clouds seem to unite with the deep blue sky as if in a tender, silent embrace. Is this a dream? Sometimes a river seems to spring from the very heart of the Earth. I will remember their sweet faces, their crescent-moon eyes, their lips, sometimes serious, often light, their hair, black as jet, their tiny perfect noses, and that incredible gift: to teach, to share, to love. Vodka still warm in my blood reminds me of the last evening. Mongolia, my love, thank you for these radiant landscapes, for moments of joy and sorrow, for the encounters that touch the soul]]> https://juliadarolles.kabook.fr/galerie-269334/mongolia-my-love.html https://juliadarolles.kabook.fr/ galerie-id:269334 What once was is no more — the permanence of things is but an illusion. The butterflies, through the brevity of their lives, whisper to us of transience. Where are we bound? Only silence gives reply. I hold on to nothing. I erase nothing. One day shall come when we shall take flight for all eternity. And yet — where is eternity? Where does she hide herself? Ah, there you are. Long have I struggled against time to find you once more. Come closer. Let me tell you of the ephemeral — I know it will leave you spellbound.]]> https://juliadarolles.kabook.fr/galerie-266344/life-begins-as-a-fact-but-becomes-a-choice.html https://juliadarolles.kabook.fr/ galerie-id:266344 Eyes and faces — silent voices of the soul. No grief abides, only small tides shimmering in your gaze. I am wistful to behold you, to see you in your truth.]]> https://juliadarolles.kabook.fr/galerie-264521/gaze.html https://juliadarolles.kabook.fr/ galerie-id:264521 When voices rise in the streets for peace, a sweet ardor blooms. You dwell now within our hearts boom, boom listen... our souls, in reverberation, are the drums of the awakening.]]> https://juliadarolles.kabook.fr/galerie-264522/the-people-and-their-rising.html https://juliadarolles.kabook.fr/ galerie-id:264522 Of Soil and Soul Landscapes from here and elsewhere From hill to plain, the wind remembers. It carries the scent of old stones, the murmur of roots beneath the dust. Every land has its silence a breath between the trees, a tremor beneath the wheat. The earth speaks in colors no tongue can name. Ochres, ashes, greens that sleep in shadow. Each grain of soil holds a memory, a story pressed beneath our wandering feet. And we, fragile travelers, borrow her pulse for a moment. We walk, we touch, we leave no trace only the echo of our gaze folded into her horizon. Tell me, earth of here and elsewhere, when we return to you, will you still remember our names, or only the warmth of our passing? ]]> https://juliadarolles.kabook.fr/galerie-264523/of-soil-and-soul.html https://juliadarolles.kabook.fr/ galerie-id:264523