The mini-automatic shifting pugeot reminds me I am an American as I pull between the stone walls winding to the mountain top restaurant which will become our home.

I glass door reflection the gold balls dripping from the Christmas tree, I wonder if it will stay there long into January, silly how Christmas has such a build up just a few days after it seems long enough...to me

And the lunch crowd is local. A stop in the action for. Visitors who don't speak French, room keys appear from out of the front pocket apron, which has greeted so many before.

The heels on my boots while thick are still to high to gracefully attend to the stones laid hundreds and hundreds of year ago....... villa flora 

I can hear the bird chirping, a river flowing, the sun and sea are friends even on the mountaintop the islands inds welcome me...I slow to the rhymes  of an island in france ‎

A bathtub calls my name.....and so does astrid----