French Husband and I took the motorcycle out for a spin. The first act of spring. With our coats unbuttoned and scarves left aside, we headed towards the sea.
Riding up the Route de Crete, with the blue sea lapping in the distance, the almond trees in pink bloom, and the wild irises waving– it seemed Spring was shouting out her name at every bend.
The soil overturned ready for planting, the vineyards neatly trimmed, the air soft on my skin…
Winding along the Riviera, with my arms wrapped around French Husband waist I felt the gentle swaying of the motorcycle on each turn. I did not hear the roar of the engine though I thought I heard the crashing waves. I shouted out on the top of my lungs, then let the air fill them up again, and shouted just the same.
Where do you let your hair down?
Leave a Reply