Summer is a royal feast for the senses. The color of the season surprises me over and over again, it never grows old, nor ordinary or expected. The season's gift is appreciated. Oh, that Provencal blue sky against the golden wheat. Gasp. It is the first time, isn't it? Do I smell baked bread?
I know I do.
The earth soaks in Provence: thyme, lavender, rosemary, fennel and certainly the Mistral stirs it then with ease, passes through the air, tangles with the rain soaks within the rocky clay soil to the roots soaring to the vines… and the wine flows with the scent of it all.
Abundantly.
Abundant life.
Pleasure under my feet and above my head.
French countryside wealth.
I will miss this summer it was one of the best.
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