Spring 1995. History Repeating

That year, 1995, was the last of the war in the Balkans.

It was sunny that morning in Sarajevo.

The sense of evil walking.
The impotence.
The abyss.


I live in Barcelona on the slopes of the park of Montjuïc.

Wild flowers and palm trees and the warm, clear Mediterranean
sunlight. A view through my window to combat the war on the screen.

Barcelona and Sarajevo. The same sun.

But different.