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Hervé Combe


The last trip

It all began with the discovery of an old wagon. It was alone on its abandoned track.

End of the trip.

I turned around and I imagined his wagon life.

He had to travel thousands of kilometres, hundreds of cities and stations. Foreign languages had to speak to him. He must have suffered the worst weather conditions.

Tired, worn out, he won’t drive anymore. He’ll have so much to say and tell.

The memory of wood and steel.

To climb in these old wagons is to walk in the past, the floors crack, the steps squeal on the broken glass windows. Just the silence and caress of the wind that seeps down these corridors. In this silence I imagined these ghost travelers, surrounded by the murmurs of their discussions and the laughter of the children. I imagined their trips. To find the loved one or to leave him, to go with a firm heart or relieved to a new life.

In our memories there is always a train that pulls us away or brings us closer to a destiny.

Hervé Combe

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