I’m up early today with ringing bells and cooing pigeons, comme d’habitude. Tomorrow morning at this time I’ll be von Trapping it to Aix to snag the wonder-train back to Paris. Maybe I’ll check the train schedule this time for delays.
Lying here in bed, listening to the town wake up, I have a “make a wish” sense about the day. It’s a wistful sensation. Not just because my Winter in Provence is almost over and I need to choose how to spend my last day here, either. The greater heartache is this; as amazing as this time has been, I may never see this place again. It’s rather like a romance break-up… I did that once in eighth grade. Tried it in college but it backfired and I got married. Oops.
But with my wandering, adolescent, artist’s eye, there are more regions in this lovely country to see so I’m still playing the field. My next fling could be the Aquitaine, the Alps, the Auvergne, southern Burgundy, or another round with my first love, Brittany.
Except there’s a place I’ve been dying to go: the Perigord with the river Dordogne. I’ve lusted after it for several years.
Each region, like people, has unique beauty and charm. And in France each has a gender, too. Way back whenever, most of these regions were baptized with the feminine article la: la Normandie, la Bretagne, la Provence, la Loire… But my next round with la France may be southwest through l’Auvergne(the gender’s in the closet with the apostrophe) to le Perigord, and even le Basque. Guilty, as charged.
Even when I return to la Provence some spring or fall, will it be Monfort and this charming cat, Luthier? It’s been a delight, but this blue-eyed wanderer is a fickle fellow, easily seduced by the promise of the unseen vista waiting around the next bend. But brev, I’m staying in the moment. Sun’s up. I’ll shower,breakfast and paint today away. Tomorrow, I’ll be lost in the City of Light.