My head is lolling towards the open window where my hand lies out-stretched, conducting the breeze.
There is a sense of sweetness – not scent nor taste – that coddles my skin.
And in the blooms we stop to gaze at, I see a promise.
Of growth, of continuation…where age falls off into l’oubli…
…Most certainly for the olive trees that had died of a frost bone deep in the ground so many years ago and yet they wave wildly as I pass, gleefully reborn.
I reach for my camera and idly snap, catching at nothing in particular but the essence of all.
Remi is driving next to me and I here him quietly chide me for being so casual in my photography. “It’s not respectful,” he tells me for the tenth time. A smile rises on my lips and I snap again, kissing the air.
Doesn’t he know that I am in love with the softness of the Provençal spring?
I love your particular use of "intoxicated" Jeanne – that is certainly what it feels like!
Bisous.
With a G like Gallivanta! 😉
I am! But I am posting photos from Provence that I prepared in advance for a bit while here. 🙂
That particular promise was not fufilled but there will be another…
I bet you have ones like that on your walks in the woods with Karina. 🙂
Merci for this gorgeous compliment. You are always so generous…
Isn't it gorgeous? This was up by the last mazet that we rented – on a drive near Roques sur Pernes.
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I can almost smell the air of Provence in your words. Evocative photos just add to the pleasure.
Nature reveals itself in the flowers and trees and of course the breeze. Spring with its green and blooms.
Wonderful.