It's hard to stay on track with what's authentic and enriching for the soul. At times everything gets out of whack. Since our economic crash we have lived with the challenges of stagnation and lack of opportunity. We dealt with it all as best we could. But now? Enough already. Time for new dawns and gaudy . . .
We never know exactly where each day will end; camping on a free range duck farm, parked on the bank of a leafy river, lapping up a rose scented village. The Loire Valley has won out over the west coast and it has turned out to be a magical meandering off the beaten track. We move slowly. . . .
Champagne is being served in the tulip garden. Just before the happy couple make an appearance they pause for a moment at the door. He holds the bouquet of roses while she takes an elegant swig from a glass. The dress is smoothed, he gives her the flowers, she takes her courage in her hands and then they descend the steps. I . . .
As November takes hold, maybe winter begins? The community on the hill and here on the lane are winding down, burrowing in behind closed doors. Close to the window there are white roses budding and flowering, in their own rhythm. Sure they don't seem to know if it's day or night! And in the workshop there are sounds of tapping and . . .
In her garden it's the sweet perfume that I remember. Her little bed of roses. She broke her back in a car accident in the 1930's and was bent over and frail. We used to laugh saying she was so wrinkled that her wrinkles had wrinkles. She was strict and made us eat things we didn't like, but . . .