Encounters

I do not choose most of what happens to me on the road. I choose a direction, and then the road takes over.

A track in the north gives out after forty kilometres, and a family feeds me while I wait for a truck that may not come. A herd of elephants crosses at dusk, the driver cuts the engine, and for four minutes nobody in the car says a word. A tailor lets me sit in his shop because the light is good there, and because he wants to know what a Frenchman is doing in his town with a camera and no colour.

None of that was in the plan. All of it is why I keep going out.

Encounters is where those minutes are written down. One photograph, and the story of how it arrived.