Morning in my village:
The church bells ring—the night curtain lifts. The baker puts out his pain aux chocolate first, then the croissants, followed by the baguettes. Many sleepy-eyes walk over to buy one. The birds begin to sing. The commuters drop off their children and enter the Bouchon to the city; French Husband will race downstairs when the tea kettle whistles. A cup of Rooibos awaits me. The neighbor’s cat sneaks across our courtyard. The last fig falls from the tree. All this I know to be true as I sit in humble gratitude. Amen.
What are your mornings like?
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