For a few hours this morning we had snow
Spring snow.
Like dusting powder sugar on a cake.
As the minutes passed, the dusting gave way to icing.
Snow in Provence is like having your cake and eating it too.
It might last a day or two, though today it melted away within a few hours.
Sweet but no snowman.
Watching the snowfall on the garden chair was like watching the hand of an artist painting.
Adding just the right amount of color, capturing the light, steady strokes…
Our courtyard became a stage, wonderland, for the red robin who dares to sing, or the doves to dine, if only for a day.
By the afternoon the stage was prepared for spring.
How is it chez toi?
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