A true Sunday. Sleeping in late then dipping carefully shredded Italian brioche into my coffee, listening to our friends that had stayed over after a joyful evening as they mused on this and that, their knowing to let me be until I am fully awake. Each paging through picture books with waving lapses of silence filled only with the ping-pong of Baroque. Meanwhile, beyond the window-pane the sun was arm-wrestling with the clouds. It won and was victorious. Out we wandered, working up an appetite for the omelette aux chanterelles that Chef Remi had promised. I took my camera along as the light was singing just to me, I felt that I had the sun in my arms and love in my heart.
Hungry from looking, we stayed at table until 4 pm, lingering over the St. Marcellin and sweet clementines. After our friends said their goodbyes, it was time for une petite sieste, the kind filled with sleeping without sleeping, the best I know. But I could hear noises outside my window as I dozed and was finally drawn to see what could it be. While I was dreaming, workers from the city had been as busy as bees, stringing up, then testing the lights for the Christmas season. I smiled at the Milky Way just below my feet, as they winked little hellos while lighting up the dark.