

In the spring of 1964, 'I' met photographer Ranson and we had a short friendship. Then, he disappeared; someone said he went to Mexico and took all the photos, leaving no trace of existence. Thirty years later, a photo discovered accidentally led to the past. Actually, 'I' didn't know who Rranson was. Did he participate in World War II? Was he really Robert Capa's friend? Why did he leave France without a word? 'I' recalled the photos I had organized, looking for traces of him from the frames of light and shadow. Why did 'I' suddenly have this urge? Just because the spring of 1992 was as bad as in 1964? The dog of spring...
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