Love More Mysterious Than The Dead ... odours of childhood that welcomed sickly joy ... Quasimodo We thought we had forgotten the smell of the old house, when suddenly, on opening a wooden door, those summer nights came back to us, the mosquitoes' torment, the holidays, their eves and the mysterious resuscitation of our dead. The years used to age these memories too, used to superimpose other summer nights, other holidays, other eves, another love more mysterious than the dead. Until in an instant there returned the smell of childhood and its sickly joy. Alexis' Moon The street has changed: before, night here was wilder: on the corner a lamp would swing in the summer breeze, crickets and frogs were omens of storms and there came ...