That phrase kept coming back to me last week like a boomerang, one always thrown with the finest of intentions.
Lucky you to live in Provence. "Yes, yes, I know," I respond, automatically. For that is the awaited reply, the proper one as well.
But as I have mentioned in the past, just because I hang my hat in this lauded region doesn't mean that the everyday stress of life magically disappears. So while all is relatively well, health intact etc., Remi and I found ourselves in strong need of a soupape, a breather to let off the steam fogging up our vision.
We have discovered something of a spot of the "c'est réellement un spot ici" kind. It isn't terribly well known, even amongst the Provençaux. A Secret Provence? Yes, it does exist but if you think I am going to tell you where it is, you overestimate my otherwise generous nature...at least for now.
Perhaps I am simply being my superstitious self. For every time we visit, no matter what worries pre-occupy our busy minds, they disappear like dandelion fluff. I am holding tight to my little talisman.
Yesterday the rain threatened, bullyishly, despite having already trapped us inside all weekend. But it passed. The path was still wet and we had to keep a strict eye on the furry ones who longed to roll in the mud.
For the first time, I had taken my camera with me, certain that the act of choosing to look would bring about something positive as it always does. And although I am not as thrilled with the photos as I was in taking them, I am content in the memory of that two hour stroll.
For as that golden light, the one that side-swipes the dark broke through, I stopped walking for a moment and a thought without thinking misted over me: "It really is beautiful, Provence." Vision cleared.