Princeton, so far, is charming, and so is New Jersey (NJ). The window of Irina's apartment in the early morning (7.30 - 8 am) discloses a landscape of autumn brown-grey tall trees, and beyond them lets some water shine thremble. A river, I guess.
The apartment is warm, and even when I go outside to the balcony, the cold has no time to really bother me. So, this cold beauty mingles with the one of Irina, and of her hospitality, that I feel to have stolen.
On the way to NYC, in Princeton train station, and in the train where I'm writing now, serious men with elegant coats: more Europe than on the west coast.
No
wander, I thought earlier today, that the English settled in these lands first, whereas the Spanish occupied the south, all the way back to California.
Only the Brits could feel at home here, looking at the fall thin grey trees all around.
This morning, from the window, I saw a brown leaf
falling down to the ground. The beauty of this land recalls me the one of women, and that of cats.
You can call them cold, complaining that they don't look sweet to youi. But, at least for the time of a fast sight, you cannot help feeling charmed by them.