We drive along the river for about fifteen kilometers from the city to get there. One road to come and leave. Wedged between two rivers, we call this place "Le Bout du Monde" (World's End), refering to this dead end, isolated and almost insular aspect. Located in a floodable zone, its possibilities of expansion are limited. In the lands, people cultivate the fertile soil, while the river and its surroundings remain preserved. The area stretches out for a few kilometers until the Loire and its affluent merge together and then flows to the Atlantic ocean. Crossing the railway bridge to reach the other side and observe the confluence is a family ritual. From there, we stare at the great corridor of water while imagining the ocean away, and by concentrating a little, we could almost feel a slight of iodine note in the air. Unless it is only the sent of dried mud from river's banks. I've often felt a kind of fear as I walked there, naively throwing sticks ahead of my feet to make sure the ground was practicable. Many stories have been heard, of people who would have disappeared in a quicksand or a whirlpool. This series takes place in a small territory in Loire Valley, where I grew up and lived until I left several years ago. During lockdowns, I had the opportunity to explore these places again, observe their particularities in a objective way, but also let the reminiscences reappear and rediscover a sense of belonging.