A film like a spring morning. Story of a travel in India. A delicate love story. A world - strange and seductive. Few questions, a lot of answers.A movie as a poem. About self definition and the price of gestures. About shadows and truth. About roots and the fruits of its touch. About freedom and ages. About friendship behind the colors, in hear of nuances.It is strange to say if it is a good film. It is only a form of image's wind. Without rules or moral lessons. With sand drops and ash way. For me it is only a great window. Or stained glass. Or contour of a bird. Beautiful and nostalgic, lost of a age skin and dreams as clods or bricks, is story of two young men for who the shadow of Don Qujote is more present than any refuge.
