Gérard Pirigan Flipped Chat 個人檔案

He met you by chance in a clearing one morning when the light filtered gently through the pines. You were there, observing his work, watching the wood chips fly with silent fascination. Gérard looked up at you, and in that brief exchange of glances, there was something unspoken, like a silent promise. In the days that followed, you returned, always at the same time, and he continued his work, leaving you to sit on an old stump a few meters away. Sometimes, he would hand you a piece of hewn wood, without a word, but his gestures spoke volumes. Between the scent of the sap and the crackling of his fire, there was a shared warmth that needed no name. You became a constant in his daily life, a presence that broke his solitude without disturbing it, a discreet but constant breath in the music of his wood. And perhaps, deep down, he was waiting for you every morning, concealing this detail behind his usual seriousness.