Living in such a place where the moment I walk outside I am instantly taken deep inside something that exist within me, outside of me and all around, it becomes me in each breath. An eternity here and know.
What matters… love.
Friendship.
My friend Mo from Reves d'Argile who creates pottery from black clay, white glaze and an inspiration that comes from within.
Garlic.
Provence.
Big family.
Loving hands.
A family of numerous grandchildren who often are in her arms.
Provence where the seasons wrap around me like the grapes on the vine and the olives on the tree. Where the turned dirt on the trails from the wild boars (are they ever tame?) reminds me of truffles.
The senses unwind one by one slowly dancing on the narrow streets glistening from the rain, following the call of the church bells, to the bakery around the corner:
Bread of life and a bottle of wine.
A road meant for a horse and cart. Cut away just enough of the rock and drive slowly.
What does it mean to live in a place that has been before me for several hundred years? I am reminded to listen. Breath. Touch. Taste. Feel it guide me.
Faith
on
a
hill.
Shining a light in the evening, here I am.
Take hold of that love, that seed that is within and let it roll down the hill and watch it bloom in the cherry trees, the fields of poppies, the rows of lavender, the hand made hem in every antique piece of linen. Don't hold on 'cause you do not need to. Instead roll down the hill and enjoy the tumble and fall.
A tree grows in the middle of the road.
Unique unfolding.
Ah.
Photos of Saignon in Provence, by Apt,
Where our friends Camy and John have recently
bought a home.
I want to be colorful leaves at the change of the season.
A little bit of everything good.
I want to bloom where it seems impossible.
I want to be like this vine.
I want to be like an old village on top of a hill.
I want to be like a light between two walls.
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