France. Camargue. 1990.
She came for the first time wandering around me. I had never met her. I didn’t expect her. She was an enigma, far away. She surprised me and took me into her dark and sombre universe. The pain, the tears, the dark, the sincere silence, and the one, more hypocritical, artificial. The distance imposed by the freezing body of the one who left. And my helplessness in view of all of this. The time of a dream in a poppy field -these flowers that fade once they’re picked- to find again the road of life. The poppy fields remind her of the ones of her childhood, in Azerbaijan; and this image, the last trip of the woman who gave birth to her.