I was born in Provence to the songs of the cicadas and the scents of the scrubland.
One day I caught the virus of the word that made a benevolent and liberating ink flow.
Since then this enchanted, incurable and devouring disease carries me and transports me. I sow words by making their golden lights sing, cry, dream, which on everything lay a soothing veil.
Soon my first collection of published poetry will be available, the second is finished and I am currently writing a fantasy novel.