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Summer at Arcachon falls across the dunes and shallow waters in a pale blue haze. Ludwig Favre returns to the same stretch of sand where sunlight glints on wet grain and figures wade, leashes held low; boats sit motionless beyond the horizon. The red bench reappears, framing the scene with a burst of color against the calm sea. What lingers is the texture,fine sand catching light, ripples left by feet, the occasional pine tree casting long shadow. A quiet rhythm: walking, wading, sitting on low walls overlooking water dotted with small boats under clear skies.

















