Le musée des poissons morts - Occasion
Grand Format
4,00 €
The Dead Fish Museum. Stories (Washington State Book Award)
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- Nombre de pages256
- FormatePub
- ISBN0-307-26473-4
- EAN9780307264732
- Date de parution18/04/2006
- Protection num.Adobe DRM
- Taille297 Ko
- Infos supplémentairesepub
- ÉditeurVintage
Résumé
"In the fall, I went for walks and brought home bones. The best bones weren't on trails-deer and moose don't die conveniently-and soon I was wandering so far into the woods that I needed a map and compass to find my way home. When winter came and snow blew into the mountains, burying the bones, I continued to spend my days and often my nights in the woods. I vaguely understood that I was doing this because I could no longer think; I found relief in walking up hills.
When the night temperatures dropped below zero, I felt visited by necessity, a baseline purpose, and I walked for miles, my only objective to remain upright, keep moving, preserve warmth. When I was lost, I told myself stories .
When the night temperatures dropped below zero, I felt visited by necessity, a baseline purpose, and I walked for miles, my only objective to remain upright, keep moving, preserve warmth. When I was lost, I told myself stories .
"In the fall, I went for walks and brought home bones. The best bones weren't on trails-deer and moose don't die conveniently-and soon I was wandering so far into the woods that I needed a map and compass to find my way home. When winter came and snow blew into the mountains, burying the bones, I continued to spend my days and often my nights in the woods. I vaguely understood that I was doing this because I could no longer think; I found relief in walking up hills.
When the night temperatures dropped below zero, I felt visited by necessity, a baseline purpose, and I walked for miles, my only objective to remain upright, keep moving, preserve warmth. When I was lost, I told myself stories .
When the night temperatures dropped below zero, I felt visited by necessity, a baseline purpose, and I walked for miles, my only objective to remain upright, keep moving, preserve warmth. When I was lost, I told myself stories .
