It’s a gray, gray morning.

I long to sit outside.  The sun on my face.

I am remembering a summer morning.

Good Husband is bringing me my café au lait.

My dear friend Jill has just returned from Paris.  She’s dropped a paper off for me to read.

I’m in my garden.

Lavender is blooming.

Perhaps I’m in Provence.  Or in a secret courtyard in the 7th Arrondissement.




This morning I am longing for summer.

Summer in the garden.

Our home is in the country.   The quiet air is filled with bird song.  I can hear the distant whinny of the horses in an equestrian centre down the road.  The horse next door answers.

I sip my coffee.  Rustle the newspapers energetically.

There’s no place like home.

Even when it is raining.

6 thoughts on “MORNING IN FRANCE ???

    • Thank you Angela. The container garden was a happy accident. Major work was being done around the foundation of our home. We dug up the perennials and the rose bushes and put them in the biggest pots we could find. Voila. A beautiful garden. And so much less work.

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